


Life After Death

by AnyaElizabeth



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: DH!fix, EWE, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 14:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 56,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnyaElizabeth/pseuds/AnyaElizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd always expected the war to eventually culminate in his own death.</p><p>What really surprised him was waking up again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My let's fix DH fic!   
> This chapter is PG but others are not.

Snape always expected the war to be a hideous, gory affair that would eventually culminate in his own death. That this death occurred without his treachery being discovered was only mildly surprising, and quite a relief; the snake bite was painful, but it paled in comparison to the hours of torture and humiliation reserved for traitors. Of course, he would have liked to see the Dark Lord's face, but that was not to be helped. He'd at least succeeded in getting the boy the required information before he died.

What really surprised him was waking up again.

At first, he'd thought the wretched boy had some sense after all. He'd not been beyond help, though those wild green eyes seemed hardly in a fit state to do anything but stare. And the fate of the world rested on him!

But no. This was not the ceiling of the shrieking shack. This was a plain white ceiling, brightly lit by sunlight streaming in upon it. Severus could even hear birdsong.

Well, if this was the afterlife, it was restful, at least. And soft. There was a duvet under his fingers, tucked up to his armpits. He turned his head, apprehensive, but his neck did not spasm – that, more than anything, made him feel sure he was dead. Yet his head felt slow, sluggish, and his arms were like lead.

He tilted his head. The room was small and pleasant, and the window looked out onto bright blue skies. It was slightly crooked. There was a door immediately in front of him, that also looked slightly off-kilter – then it opened, and a tray appeared, balanced with a bowl, a glass and several potions vials. Behind it stood the last person Severus would have expected; the Weasley girl, bright hair glaring, face uncharacteristically solemn.

"Oh!" she said, and set the tray down. Then she vanished in a flash of red hair.

"MUUM!" she cried, and suddenly the wonky windows made sense. Merlin, he thought, the Weasley house? A Weasley bedroom, even!

He tried to pull himself up, and was still struggling when Molly Weasley bustled in and very nearly knocked over the tray.

"Oh, good gracious, what's that doing there? Oh, the silly girl. Did she have to leave it in the doorway?" She levitated it to his bedside. "There, that's better! How are you feeling, Severus dear?"

Severus stared. Had the woman forgotten he had been systematically torturing her children?

"As though I should be dead," he said, and it came out as a croak.

"Well, that's no surprise," said Molly. "You should be. Here, drink some water."

To his irritation, Molly moved him upright by magic as she handed him the glass. His arms felt impossibly heavy as he lifted them.

"Why am I not?" asked, voice still rough, and Molly sighed.

"It was a close thing, but you had something watching over you," she said. "When Harry went back to the shack to collect your body, your wounds had been healed and there was that." She pointed at the bedside, where a bright gold feather lay shining in the light, beside his wand. A ghost of memory, of bright song and Lily's face, floated through Severus' consciousness.

"And to Harry's fright, you had a pulse! Not much of one, of course, with the blood you lost. You were very close to death – if Harry hadn't been so keen to retrieve your body –"

He could hardly analyse that one. Had Potter forgiven him so much? Had they all? He had expected Azkaban, if he survived, and damn any work he'd done for the light.

"But why on earth am I here?"

Molly smoothed her skirts uneasily.

"Well, we could hardly let you go to St Mungo's, could we? They'd have you arrested before you could even open your eyes, and stuff Harry Potter's word." She spoke as though Harry Potter's word were immutable, but for once Severus could hardly complain. "And Hogwarts wasn't suitable, it's not very secure at the moment and nearly everyone has gone home to – spend some time with their families." Something sparkled in her eyes for a moment, and to his surprise he felt his heart clench. Had any of them failed to make it? The Weasleys, red hair and all, were something eternal and good, wholesome in a way he had never known. It did not seem possible that any of them could fall to evil.

"Molly," he murmured, and she smiled sadly.

"Hush, Severus, your throat won't thank you for it," she said. "So yes, we brought you here – well, first Harry and Ron and Hermione brought you to the hospital wing at Hogwarts, but of course you stirred up a bit of debate. We concluded it was not safe for you there and so, here you are!"

"Molly," he said again. "I... thank you."

She beamed, such a warm smile that he wished for a moment that he could deserve it.

"It should be me thanking you, Severus dear," she said warmly. "You protected my youngest, and you helped Harry save us all. We are all in your debt."

He snorted.

"Molly, I tortured them," he said. "Yours especially, as I'm sure she's told you."

"Yes, I believe she wishes to talk to you about that," she said, a cold note emerging in her voice. "But you protected them all the same. They've told me enough – who knows what the Carrows might have done to her."

"Cruciatus or worse, in a fit of enthusiasm," he said. "Knowing them." God knows, they'd done enough the times he was unable to stop them. There would be too many damaged children graduating in the next few years.

Molly looked ill at the thought.

"But Ginny... she was spared the worst?"

"Yes. I insisted that all rebellion members be taken directly to me."

Molly smiled.

"Then I can't express my gratitude enough. You should drink your potions, perhaps we'll manage a full dose with you awake. And there's soup."

She offered an unstopped vial of healing elixir and he tossed it back. It was a good batch, though not his own; Severus felt better almost instantly. A blood replenishment potion, which flushed warm through his system, and finally a rehydration solution. Molly perched on the edge of the bed, soup in hand, and attempted to feed it to him. He protested, appalled, and she rolled her eyes.

"Who has been caring for me?" he asked, struggling to hold the bowl in shaking hands.

"All of us," said Molly. "I've been sending the kids up with the food when I was busy, and Harry's sat up here a few times. I bathed you and dressed you, if that's what you're worried about."

He really was far too old to blush. And God knew he'd been in similar positions with Pomfrey too many times.

"How long was I –"

"Well, you were in the Shrieking Shack for two days, Hogwarts for one, and here for the week. Poppy put you in a healing sleep, which she said might take anything from two to ten days to wake from. Then she recommended you stay in bed for at least another two weeks."

"Two weeks? Molly, that's unacceptable. I cannot –"

"Got somewhere to be, Severus?" she said fondly. "Relax. There's absolutely nothing that needs to be done now. Except healing. Eat your soup."

A soft hand on his, a kind squeeze, and Molly Weasley left. Severus ate his soup with something warm coursing through him, something he feared he had not felt in a very long time.

He did not manage as much of the food as he would have liked – he was just setting it down when there was a knock on his door. He cleared his throat.

"Yes?"

"It's Ginny," said a voice. "May I come in?"

"Yes," he said, though he would have dearly liked to send her away. She came in, politeness in her manner but defiance in her face, and pulled a chair from the corner.

She crossed her arms. She was quite as formidable as her mother, even at seventeen. Good lord, he thought, and she could do magic now. Was she after revenge?

"Look," she said crossly, and stopped. "Oh, I don't know how to do this. You're a total bastard, Professor Snape."

Part of him nearly snapped, 'ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and detention for a month.' He bit back his instinct and settled for a sneer instead. It felt good, to shake off that painful ache Molly's kindness had given him.

"Well," he sneered. "There is a revelation. Thank goodness you told me, Miss Weasley, or I never would have known –"

"Oh, shut up," she said, and smiled a small satisfied smile. "You're a total bastard, but you were protecting me, and I see that now. You didn't have to do it so bloody well, of course, but I get it. If we'd thought you were being soft, if we thought you were trustworthy, they would have noticed. We should have known, though, when you kept making a fuss about all that Veritaserum. And when you hit me that time –"

She paused to wince, and Severus did the same. She'd been caught stealing potions ingredients, but the Carrow woman had found her first. Severus had given her a vicious backhander that had sent her flying across the room – only coincidentally knocking her from the path of Alecto's Cruciatus, of course. A petty triumph, but that was all there was to be had.

"I remember she had her wand out, now," she said. "She was going to do something horrible, but you smacked me across the room and she put her wand down. You didn't have to say all the things you did, though –"

"I meant very little of it, and I did not take as much pleasure as you may imagine," he said, surrendering to the wisp of not-quite-admiration he'd felt as he'd watched the little rebellion fighting at Hogwarts. She'd caused him untold trouble, of course, but if the rebellion had not formed too many might have fallen into despair and taken to the other side. She'd earned an explanation, however much he wished otherwise. "It was necessary, and I knew you were perfectly capable of hearing it."

To his astonishment, Ginny blushed.

"I – thank you, Sir. I'm glad you thought so." She paused. "But, I have to ask – why did you go after Neville so much? I mean, you never thought him worth anything, and you were so cruel, his detentions were the most creative and evil..."

"Partly," he said, "Because it was expected. Partly, however, it was because I am as you say, a total bastard, and Longbottom has driven me up the wall since his very first day. The first time I punished him, I thought he would be easily cowed, and perhaps deterred from crossing my path again. I was gravely mistaken, as I learned almost immediately. To my surprise, Longbottom grew a spine, and continued to cultivate it every time he came out of a detention unscathed."

"So you were what – building character? You had no right!"

"Of course I didn't. But you did keep waving that blasted teenage army of yours under my nose."

Ginny, to his surprise, laughed.

"Alright. I'm not sure if Neville will forgive you though. No, I think he will. He'll be here next week with Luna, I think – we're having a sort of celebratory supper. Half the Order are coming. We're planning to tell them all slowly about you, gauge their reactions or something, so you're coming too. And Hermione has sort of taken up a role as Harry's official PR agent, she's got a big plan to make the media do what we want for a change."

"Merlin," said Severus, unable to hide the horror crawling up his spine. "A party. With Weasleys and werewolves and terrifying know-it-alls. I may remain here."

Something froze in Ginny's face.

"I'm not serious," he assured. "I am not so ungrateful as to cast aspersions on a family who have been quite irrationally kind to me."

"That's not it," she said, though she blushed. "It's Lupin. He – was one of the ones who didn't make it through the battle."

Severus was not quite prepared to feel as he did at this information. Lord knows, he'd never cared for the man. But it began to awaken him to reality – Lupin was dead, the war had really happened, and for some absurd reason he'd survived it. He was free, and men like Lupin who deserved more had fallen.

How could he have died, but Severus Snape, who'd committed dreadful sins, who'd tired of living long ago, have endured?

He almost cursed Harry Potter. If Potter had left him alone, he would have faded away in peace.

"Who else?" He asked. Ginevra looked out at the sky.

"Tonks, too," she said. "Teddy's alright, of course, but I think it bothers Harry."

Teddy. Presumably the child of the werewolf and his silly metamorphmagus. An orphan, like Potter, but at the same time utterly unlike him. He would not be sent to muggles, for a start. And he would never be devoid of love and attention, from his grandparents and the Weasleys and Potter himself. He'd be positively spoiled.

"And her dad," she said. "And – and Fred."

Ginny turned her face away to hide her eyes. He felt strangely blank. Fred Weasley? That couldn't be true. Nothing could silence that insane double act, and certainly nothing could separate it. Perhaps he could have accepted one of the older boys, maybe the strangely out-of-place Percival.

Severus didn't say anything. He was not accustomed to offering condolences. Or kindnesses of any kind. He had already been complimentary enough to set an itch in his bones.

"There are others," said Ginevra, suddenly fierce. "There's a list. Order members, though I didn't know any of them. And a few students, not that many luckily. I only knew Colin Creevey."

"Creevey. The boy with the camera and the crush on Potter?"

"Ew," she said, then had the grace to look guilty for speaking ill of the dead. "It wasn't a crush."

"Wasn't it?" said Severus. "I once had the dubious pleasure of walking in on a Harry Potter fanclub. He was the only male member. He was chairing, and he was showing off pictures of Potter in the shower."

"Oh my God!" said Ginny, clapping her hand over her mouth to stop her giggle. "You're joking. What happened to the pictures?"

"Because I am a man of extreme restraint, I did not sell them to the highest bidder," he said.

"Harry would be horrified," she said, with a slightly wicked grin he approved of immensely. "Do you think he knew about Colin?"

"The Boy Who Lived To Be Oblivious? Certainly not," he said. This obviously struck a chord, as she laughed and tossed her hair. Then she sighed, expression darkening.

"He's certainly oblivious at the moment. He doesn't talk to anyone or listen when we talk. Mum reckons he's grieving and he'll get over it with time, but he's frustrating, he shuts everyone out. Even me!"

She glanced at him, self-conscious.

"Sorry – I know you probably couldn't care less about him –"

"Not at all. I have no objections to hearing that Potter is an insensitive idiot."

"He's not!" she said, and her eyes flashed fire. "Don't say that. It's just difficult for him. I should go."

She rose and turned to leave, spinning her hair for maximum effect.

"Miss Weasley," he said impatiently, halting her at the door. He sighed dramatically. What was he thinking, trying to comfort a brat?

"I'm sure Potter is utterly besotted with you," he said, sneering. "In fact, I have no doubt you will marry and have many shortsighted redhead babies."

Ginny laughed in the face of his sneer and left. He heard a voice on the stairs, possibly an elder Weasley, asking her whether she was alright, and what on earth she was laughing at.

The rest of the day was quiet. Severus dozed, woken occasionally by movement in the house or on the stairs, and he did not wake properly until he realised with alarm that he needed the bathroom. What had they been doing when he was asleep? Bladder emptying charm, he supposed, how disturbing. Also not a charm he wished to perform awake.

He pulled the duvet back, already feeling weakened. What he recalled of the Weasley house was all narrow stairs and floors piled unsteadily, and he had never been to the bathroom. It could be anywhere in this warren – no, Burrow, he remembered. He peered out into the small corridor that curved into stairs at each end, and was almost crushed by two people half–tumbling, half–running down them. One of them was screeching and giggling, and had an alarming amount of hair. He considered backing away and slamming the door, but unfortunately he had become dependent on the door frame to keep him upright.

"Stop it, Ron, you'll disturb Snape!"

The Weasley boy did not stop tickling the wretched woman, and Severus fought the urge to gag.

"Don't worry, 'Mione, he's bedridden anyway. What's he gonna do, take points?"

He leant in to kiss her.

"Urgh," he said loudly. The pair froze.

"Professor!" squeaked Granger, having the propriety to be embarrassed. "You're up! Should you be standing?"

He barely was, but he would not tell her that. He had the sudden recollection that he was dressed only in ill-fitting striped pyjamas.

He would have to find some way to hint about a dressing gown. Preferably a long black one.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for inappropriate behaviour in the corridors," he said, and Granger went a little blank, as if she was unsure whether she should smile or not.

Weasley just glared. Youngest boy Weasley, at least. In a house full of Weasleys, what were you meant to call them all?

Girl Weasley, he conceded, was just tolerable enough to be Genevra.

"You can't take points," he said irritably.

"He knows that, Ron," she said, and allowed herself the smile. "Are you alright, Professor?"

"I'm not a professor, I'm a few degrees below 'alright', and I would like to know where the blasted bathroom is."

"Oh!" said Hermione. "Of course." She gave him a suspicious look, no doubt noticing just how much he was leaning on the door frame. "Shall I show you, sir?"

She offered her arm in a polite way, a thinly veiled support, but it was just veiled enough that Severus could tolerate accepting it. He'd mastered grace in the face of pain before, so he managed to make a slow hobble look far better than most, but he was irritated when the gormless Ronald still looked surprised and concerned. Before he knew it, he had a Weasley at his elbow and a know-it-all's hand guiding him up the stairs. He very much wanted to brush them away, but had to content himself with composing scathing comments in his head, holding them back in case they took him at his word and left him to tumble and break his neck.

He succeeded in getting to the bathroom, a relief in many senses, and as he attempted to wash his hands whilst depending entirely on the taps for support he listened in on Granger and Weasley's hushed conversation.

"If he comes out and sees us waiting to help him he'll hate it," hissed Granger.

"Oh, so we just leave him to fall down the stairs, is that it?" muttered Weasley. "Would be a bit of a shame, really, what with all this effort we've gone to."

"We? You've managed to avoid going anywhere near him!"

"Too right, I'm not insane. What if he'd woken up while I was there?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake. You fought in a war, but you're too afraid to face a sick professor?"

"He must be terrible," said Weasley, surprisingly sympathetically. "He's not been mean at all. Ginny said he was actually nice to her. She was always alright at potions though."

Severus realised that they would get worried very shortly if he did not emerge, and he did not really want a houseful of Weasleys and Company bashing down the door. He unlatched the door with heavy hands.

Weasley and Granger looked up from their conversation and looked guilty.

"Okay, Sir?" said Hermione awkwardly. He could only bring himself to nod. He longed to do something crueler, to crush that awkward sympathy out of her voice, but a small voice of his own remembered that it was neither necessary or appropriate, and would certainly not get him down the stairs.

Hermione gave him a shrewd look and stuck her hand in her pocket. To his surprise, his limbs felt lighter.

"Feel better then?" she said, more brightly.

"I suppose," he said resentfully, which seemed to make her smile even more. She took his arm without asking, and the bumbling Weasley hovered behind him uselessly. He was immensely glad to return to his room, and pull the covers up to his chin.

"I expect someone will come up with supper in a bit," said Granger kindly, and Severus sighed to stop himself snapping. "Um, in the meantime, we've been meaning to say..." she nudged Ron.

"Er," said Ron. "Yeah. We'd just like to say – um, about the war and everything –"

"Please, don't," he said heavily. "I'm sure whatever you want to say is excruciating for both of us. Not to mention, I didn't do it for you. And if you're excusing any of my behaviour in the hope it was just an act, I assure you it wasn't."

"Oh, we know you're a git," said Hermione brightly. "But we forgive you."

With a sense of dramatic effect that was rare in Gryffindors, she left it at that, and swept out.

Ron stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets, smiling slightly at her back.

"You are a git," he agreed, looking satisfied, and Severus could only roll his eyes.

"But I reckon you're better than you pretend, so we're going to ignore it," He continued. "Unless you cross the line, in which case you'll get the Weasley wrath. Bill will curse you, Charlie'll set dragons on you, Percy'll bore you to death, George'll fill your bed with tricks and Ginny'll hex you."

"And what will you do?" he said, snorting.

"Probably punch you in the nose," he said. "I like the simple way, me."

Severus snorted again.

"I'm sure you do, Weasley," he agreed dryly, because it was only polite to follow up on such a set-up. "Lord knows why you're with Granger."

A shy smile, not a terribly good look on the Weasley face.

"Yeah, she's not simple, is she?" he said, and shook his head fondly.

Severus shook his head with less fondness and more despair.

"I'm glad you're not dead, Sir," said Ron. "You didn't really deserve it. That much."

He grinned and followed Granger out the door. A muttered comment, obviously from the waiting Granger, and he heard a soft laugh.

"I'm never going to get over that," murmured Weasley, pulling the door to.

"What?"

"Snape in dad's pyjamas," he said, and they giggled their way down the stairs.

Severus slumped into the pillows and vowed never to open his eyes again.

*

The next few days were ridiculously dull. Apart from sleep, which he seemed to do entirely too much, his day consisted mostly of sitting up in bed feeling dreadful, staggering his way to the bathroom and being served increasingly large meals. Mostly these were presented by Molly, who bustled in much like Madame Pomfrey and took about as much notice to his protestations, complaints and outright insults as the Hogwarts nurse had ever done. She'd tidy the room or bring fresh pyjamas (never robes; he suspected she knew that the paisley and stripes were all that were keeping him in the house), and make a great deal of fuss over how thin he was.

"Just like Harry, all skin and bone, I try to fatten him up but every summer it just drops off him! Thankfully he'll never have to see those dreadful muggles again, but he's not eating now..."

He found himself unsurprised over Potter's condition. A great many loved ones were dead, including everyone he would have considered a male mentor (save Arthur, perhaps, but he was hardly the dominant force in the household). Potter, himself, had died, and he knew from personal experience that could be exhausting. Not to mention, having one's life purpose eliminated tends to throw one off. Again, he knew from personal experience.

Still, he would get over it quickly, and then he'd do the predictable thing and marry Genevra and have those bespectacled redheads, busily making up for the happy family he'd never had by marrying the girl from the only decent family he'd known. And maybe Potter would even be content with that.

What on earth was he going to do?

Arthur delivered the food one afternoon, and chatted for half an hour about the Ministry's recovery efforts. Genevra delivered lunch the next afternoon, and talked in the manner of one unburdening herself – she wanted to try out for Quidditch, but Harry was uninterested in training with her, and George seemed like he was getting ill and kept looking round desolately all the time, waiting for people to finish his sentences. And Percy kept fighting with Ron and Charlie, and Fleur kept sweeping about distracting Ron which irritated Hermione, though she'd noticed Harry never even looked any more, which she thought was much worse. She'd tried to tell Hermione she had it easy and Ron adored her, but she'd taken it all wrong and now they were barely talking. And her mother was being frantic, pouring all her grief into mothering them all horribly, and while it meant they always had great breakfasts it also meant they were all going slowly insane. And Ginny, as the youngest, got bossed around most of all.

Severus had evidently created a monster, holding back on his bile to Ginny Weasley, but mercifully her complaints were interesting enough for a sick man going slowly insane with boredom.

Five days into his stay, he was visited by yet another well-wisher – a slightly surprising one.

"Oh, Sev'rus!" said Fleur Weasley, sweeping in in a dazzle of hair and planting a kiss on his cheek. Had he not been disturbed, he would have smirked at how jealous the straighter members of the household would have been.

Bill Weasley stood in the doorway, grinning, and it was only then he had a moment's trepidation. He was frighteningly much the same as he'd been in his class, tall and confident and attractive, but he'd obviously suffered at some time in the war, because there were faint diagonal scars across his face. To Severus's considerable irritation, they succeeded in giving him an heroic air rather than marring the looks he'd been graced with in seventh year.

"Alright, Snape?" he said, and nodded.

"Mr Weasley, Mrs Weasley." He eyed her warily in case she tried to kiss him again.

"Oh, Monsieur," she said. "I am so 'onoured to see you again! We 'ave been reading all about your bravery!"

"Pardon?" he said blankly.

"In the newspaper," said Bill, and tossed one over. "Harry held a press conference last week, told everyone the basic story. He talked about you. A couple of people asked him a few questions, and Hermione proposed they do an entire piece on you. Lots of people put in their word."

"Do they know I'm alive?" he asked.

"No, but we have a plan for that, I believe. I expect Hermione will want to discuss it with you at the party tomorrow. Aren't you going to read it?"

Bill was smirking in a most charming – that is to say, Severus corrected himself, unsettling – manner. Fleur merely beamed.

He unfolded the newspaper. A large picture of a younger him stood sullenly against a backdrop of Hogwarts, a very old photo he could only presume Minerva had given them.

"SEVERUS SNAPE: UNSUNG HERO OF THE WAR?" said the heading. He reflected that it had not been so very long ago that he would have desired exactly this, but now it made him cringe.

Was the late Hogwarts' Potions Master a lot more than a sneer and a shady past? Moira Cocklebottom investigates in this four-page spread on the life and times of Professor Snape, the Side of Light's secret weapon.

He opened up the paper. There were two more pictures of him in similarly sullen poses, and headshots of various familiar faces with testimonials beside them. Potter's was by far the largest picture, smiling tiredly at the camera, and his testimonial filled most of the first page. He couldn't bear to read it – he dreaded to think what details of his private life were splashed all over the page. Below were Weasley and Granger, shorter testimonials, and Longbottom, Lovegood and Ginny had brief quotes. He paused a moment to read them.

_"I was never very good at Potions, and I don't mind telling you he terrorised me for it," writes Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts alumni and hero of the Battle of Hogwarts. "He was a bully and he was cruel, but I realise now that in my last year, he protected more than he hurt. He always made a point of dealing with the worst rebels himself, but I realise now that had the Carrows been set loose on us, I might well be in St. Mungo's. He was a horrible person, but I think he was working for the greater good."_   
_  
Ginny Weasley, seventh year student and Harry Potter's young love, says: "There were signs all along that he was on our side, but it was imperative he wasn't discovered, so he could never tell us. Still, he protected us as best he could. I remember he once slapped me across the face, which hurt quite a bit, I can tell you – it was not 'til later that I realised that Alecto Carrow had been about to turn the Cruciatus on me. A slap round the face seems a pretty fair trade."_

"He was a very sad man, I think," Luna Lovegood, another Hogwarts hero and friend of Harry Potter, confides to us. "He was very cruel, but lots of people are, and they're usually very sad. Perhaps he never learnt how to be nice. It's not like he had any friends to show him. I'm glad he was on our side, though. It just shows that sometimes nasty people are good and friendly people can be bad. I mean, wasn't Voldemort very charming at the beginning?"  
  
He groaned. What was that loony Lovegood babbling about? He sounded positively tragic. This would bring nothing but ill. He was not making nice and playing the mysterious hero to misguided strangers.

The only other testimonial he cared to read was McGonagall's.  
_  
"He was no great teacher," Professor Minerva McGonagall, former colleague of Snape, confides to us in a mournful tone. "But he was a good man. He did a great many terrible things, in the first war and the second, and I was first inclined to argue that this was unconscionable, that no circumstance legitimised his actions. But as the final threads are tied in Harry Potter's battle against Voldemort, I begin to see how vital he was – to Dumbledore, to Harry himself, to Hogwarts and the safety of its members. He was a loyal man, Dumbledore's man, and he was nobler than he'd have any of us believe. He did terrible things because he had to, because if he didn't we would all suffer, because if he didn't, we would be under a regime of terror and persecution. I cannot say we always got along, though many times I remembered him as a student, so very angry and hurt, and couldn't help but feel a little more understanding. And I can't say that what he's done does not make me feel ill to think of it. But in war, drastic measures need to be taken, and Severus was the man who took them so that we didn't have to."  
_  
Minerva. Her testimony was simultaneously harsher and kinder than he had expected. He wouldn't have been at all surprised to learn that Minerva could never forgive him for what he'd done at Hogwarts – after all, she knew that not all his cruelty had been protection, and not all of his pleasure had been faked. But for her to forgive him in such a way, not as a person but as a weapon of war, sharply underscored how much he had never been his own man.

But no more of that. He was a free man, and he would behave how he felt best, now.

He glanced over the names a final time and to his surprise, saw Lucius smirking at him from the bottom corner.  
_  
"The man was undeniably a Death Eater," says the infamous DE Lucius Malfoy in an exclusive pre-hearing interview with the Prophet. "I don't know about a spy, but I know he saved my son from being killed by the Dark Lord, risking His displeasure to do so. I certainly know he was clever enough to fool Him. But then, that goes just as well the other way, doesn't it?"_

Thank you, Lucius, thought Severus bitterly, for that stirring conviction. There may have been ten people's names on the page, but this would surely be the one people recalled.

He suddenly noticed a timeline snaking around the edges of the page – an illustrated flowchart of his life. It was disturbing to see such monumental things as 'becomes drawn in to the Death Eaters' and 'Kills Albus Dumbledore' in neat boxes with Gothic cartoon Dumbledores plummeting endlessly from the edges. He turned over in disgust, only to be confronted with Lily's bright, beautiful eyes, and the horrifying headline: _Severus Snape and Lily Potter: a Classic Tragedy?_

He would kill Harry Potter. He could barely stand to read about his 'childhood sweetheart', whose tragic sorting into an opposing house threw them apart, who found herself torn between an embittered Severus and the charming James Potter, and who could never quite bridge the gap between the Houses – could never quite save Severus from being drawn into a nasty crowd.

Trust Potter to get it completely wrong, and trust the papers to make it out into Romeo and Juliet, thought Severus. Any amount of implying that he and Lily were soulmates was quite counteracted by the pure and simple fact that Lily had wanted him for precisely as long as he had; approximately two months, at that inevitable teenage point where you begin to wonder if your friendship should be something more just because you were a boy and a girl, and you ought to. He'd loved her dearly as a child – she had been the personification of everything good to him, the only person he knew whose affection was honest and true, and in school she'd seemed like the only friend he could trust. But that had not lasted; she'd hated Avery and Mulciber, and Severus needed them to protect and accept him – and he hated James and his marauding friends, with whom Lily eventually and inevitably became fond. Their friendship was not built to last, and although he'd felt fiercely protective, fiercely adoring, it was merely the fact that he had never cared about anyone as much as Lily that made him confuse it for sexual love, and even then only briefly. Sexual love, he realised quite soon after, was quite different and possibly more akin to insanity. Though he had never had the best of partners.

"Urgh," he said, the only thing he could think to say. Bill Weasley grinned.

"You're going to get fanmail, I reckon, when they find out you're alive," he teased. "No doubt there will be a few women who'll wish to console you."

"Oh, I will murder that boy, and I've no reason not to now. Trust him to get things so wildly wrong."

"Oh, is he mistaken as to your loyalties, then?" joked Bill.

"No, but for heaven's sake, Lily Potter was not my Juliet. She was very much in love with her twat of a husband, for a start, and I never wanted her like that anyway."

"Oh!" said Bill. "And here I thought we'd finally put paid to the speculation."

"What speculation?" asked Fleur curiously, and Severus rather agreed.

"Oh, the usual sort of speculation older students do about their teachers... men? Women? House Elves? Is Snape McGonagall's kinky sex slave?"

"Oh God," said Severus in genuine horror, and Bill laughed. "If you were willing to consider such a thing, you are a braver man than me."

Fleur smiled sweetly.

"So, which is it, Sev'rus?"

"You can't ask him that, Fleur," said Bill, attractive eyes sparkling at Snape. "You can only imply outrageously and hope he does something to confirm or deny it."

"Well, I'll do neither, Mr Weasley, and you can clear out of my room."

Bill caught Fleur around the waist and drew her to him, still grinning at Snape.

"Your teacher voice doesn't work on me, you know," he said. "You're really not that much older than me. Shall we leave the man in peace?"

"Certainly," said Fleur, and smiled a bright smile. "Good to see you again, Sev'rus."

The pair left. Bill shot him a wicked look as he left.

It was only when they had one a few minutes that Severus recalled. The dinner. Tomorrow.

He was never going to survive.  



	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, he made every attempt to look ill. This only caused Molly to make him eat all his vegetables and down another, fouler healing potion, and then he was being shown some clothes that they'd acquired for him – and wasn't that a mystery, because they were not any of his and they certainly did not seem cheap. Severus, however, was so delighted to be out of stripy pyjamas that he could not bring himself to question it overly. Mrs Weasley only explained that they were 'from Diagon Alley, of course, where else would they be from?', which was unsubtly evasive and strangely defensive.

They were certainly nice. Smart, well-cut trousers, two linen shirts in black and white, a black silk waistcoat and two sets of black robes. One was practically identical to his teaching robes, to the point that he suspected someone had gone into Madame Malkin's and asked for 'Professor Snape's robes', which was hardly subtle but that was what happened when you got placed in the care of Gryffindors. 

Black trousers, black waistcoat, white shirt, buttoned up and secure, and for the first time since his death Severus began to feel a little more human. Until, of course, Molly demanded that he undress that second and come upstairs for a bath or she'd have at him with the scouring charms again. Severus would have preferred a shower, of course, but Molly was probably right when she told him it wouldn't do to have him standing for too long. 

"I've set it to run already, and there's even bubbles," she said, and guided him firmly up the stairs. He was relieved that it was easier every time he made this trek, and it was even a pleasure to step into hot soapy water for a time; however, any tranquility he might have had was ruined by Molly blithely ignoring the lock and bustling in with several big towels and bottles of shampoo. He was very relieved that he had not given into his first temptation straight away. Though really, with the house so busy and locks so blatantly disregarded, he was beginning to get a little frustrated.

"Have you considered a haircut?" she said, ignoring his glare.

"No," he snapped, though in truth his hair was longer than he usually kept it. "And might I remind you I'm nearing forty?"

"It is my opinion that no man is too old to be mothered," she said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "And you, Severus dear, seem to have suffered from a deplorable lack of feminine influence over the years. Skulking around all in black, teeth that could be fixed in a second with a good spell and all that hair covering up your best features like a sullen teenager!"

As he did not have his wand on him, he settled upon grating out, "Best features?" in as scornful a tone as he could muster.

"Your eyes, of course, my dear!" she said. "You have very interesting eyes, very... piercing. Yes, that's the word. And you have good cheekbones, quite impressive you know, they rival Bill's and he's always been extremely fortunate in the facial structure department. Now, if you don't want me to cut your hair, you'll at least have to let me wash it."

Of course, thought Severus, he should have known this was not a request but a statement of fact. Before he had a second to protest, Molly had summoned a cup from nowhere and dumped his bathwater over his head. He spluttered, outraged, but then he had to shut his mouth or risk having it filled with shampoo. At least Molly was not as violent as he might have expected; as soon as he succumbed, she began massaging his scalp gently, and it might have been nice if it weren't for the many, many psychological demons converging upon him painfully. His mother, too pale and disinterested to check if he'd washed his hair, or even if there was shampoo in the house; his father, telling him to get a haircut because long hair was for pansies, though the only reason he kept it long was because no one ever took him to get it cut; that dreadful time his father had taken scissors to it himself and reduced him to a nearly-bald mess which looked so bad that in the morning his old hair had grown right back; years and years of schoolboy taunts and jokes and disgust directed at it, which only cemented the fact that he would not change it, because then it might seem like he cared what they thought. And all the time that longing, that wish that his mother would stop wallowing in her own misery long enough to fix a little of his.

Molly must have sensed his objections ran deeper than mere pride, for she grew gentler still, combing through his hair with her fingers and aiming a stream of warm water from her wand onto his head.

"Is that the right temperature, dear?" she asked softly, propping herself up against the bath by Severus's head. He could only bring himself to nod. This was all far, far too close to something he thought he'd long since ceased to long for, and it ached in a hard knot in his chest. He was forty years old, he'd outgrown the need for a proper parent, and besides his mother had cared, sickly and incapable as she was, and it was not motherly figures he'd seemed to need, but fatherly. That's why so many angry children with backgrounds like his own were drawn to Voldemort. It was why he'd loved Albus, despite himself.

"There," said Molly, smoothing his hair back. "You'll probably want conditioner, too, with it being so long. Really, Severus, it is rather lovely, if you spend a moment to care for it."

"I loathe it," he said, and that was true enough; he anticipated a question as to why on earth he kept it, but Molly was silent, considering. Yes, Snape hated it, but he could no more cut it off than become a can-can dancer. It was  _him_ , and a strangely fitting display of his identity, slimy and dark and veiled and ultimately, just plain ugly.

"You shouldn't, dear," she said eventually, very softly. "It's much nicer than you think. It just needs a little attention. You're going to have to learn to be kinder to yourself, Severus, because you're winning the hearts of my household and I have to tell you we don't take kindly to anyone treating a friend badly."

She smiled softly, passed him the bottle of conditioner, and left him in peace.

Severus ducked his head under the water, and considered never coming back up again.   


*  


It took Severus the rest of the afternoon to compose himself into something like the man he'd been that morning. Dumbledore had had this power over him, the power to turn all his pride and his fear and his beliefs upside down, to strip him away until he was not quite sure who he was any more. He'd done it slowly, worked his way into Severus's morality under Lily's name and made him suddenly realise the truth of him; that he was not working against Voldemort any longer, he was working  _for_ the side of light. The side, he'd realised, that was the right one. And yes, Dumbledore was a manipulative bastard, but he'd not been tricked, oh no – he'd been beaten down by the simple fact of being loved.

The thing about Dumbledore, though, was that his love for Snape was hesitant and very conditional. Snape suspected it was to do with Grindelwald, to whom Albus had been foolish enough give love blindly and wildly, and who'd made him pay for his mistake. Molly's, however, was overflowing and simple, requiring nothing more than an ounce of good and the need for it. Snape didn't know how to react to it, aside from with the greatest assurance he did not deserve it – but whereas in the past he might have crushed it out of her with unkindness, he found himself suddenly disinclined to do so. He wanted, just for a little while, to be selfish, and to revel in her affections without caring that he'd received them for no good reason, for no great achievement or behaviour worth her approval.

He had fought for them, though his motives were too often selfish and cold. Maybe that was enough.

He wasn't sure whether he believed that or not, so he ceased thinking about it and dressed for dinner. He was buttoning the cuffs on the white shirt when his afternoon potion arrived, borne most unusually by Miss Granger.

"Oh!" she said in surprise, looking him up and down where he stood against the window. "That's a nice outfit."

There was a note in her voice that spoke of the person behind it, and he was tempted to ask. He turned instead to his plain black robes, and began to pull them on.

"Oh, you're not going to cover it all up, are you?" she blurted, and then blushed. Severus paused, utterly puzzled.

"Certainly I am. It has long been my habit to dress in this manner. Not usually with such expensive shirts."

It was a hint to tell him the purchaser, but Granger was Gryffindor and would never take it.

"Oh," she said instead. "Of course. But I have to say, what's the point?"

"Comfort," he said shortly, and that was true enough. The dungeons were always cold, Voldemort's meeting-places even more so, and wearing muggle trousers gave him the ability to run better if he had to. He had more pockets, too, and an extra layer of protection from the various deadly things he dealt with in both Potions and spying.

It was also true that it was a comfort way beyond that, and Granger was shrewd enough to know that. She knew it, and his insistence to cling to it showed all too well how fragile he was, how out of his depth.

Damn the woman. He set the robe down and took the potion from Granger.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said, attempting to inject as much ungratefulness as he could, but something in his throat stopped him from pulling it off properly.

"You could call me Hermione," she said, and blushed again.

"I  _could_ ," he said, in a tone that he hoped made it clear he would not. She did not seem upset.

"Alright, sir. See you tonight, then."

She smiled and left him. Severus looked down at the discarded robe and growled. How could some silly child make him feel cowardly for wearing what he always wore?

He glanced in the mirror Molly had conjured for his new clothes. The trousers were perfectly fitting, spelled to tailor themselves to the wearer, and the waistcoat and shirt were quite the same. They seemed to make the best of his shoulders and chest, yet they were just formal and forbidding enough for Snape to accept them. His hair was softer than it usually was, irritatingly long, and he gave himself his perpetual glare from behind it. He recalled what Molly had said, accusing him of hiding – of being like a teenager! – and held it back from his face speculatively. Bill Weasley's ponytail sprang to mind, and he snorted; he doubted any amount of cheekbones and hairbands would ever make him appear so.

He tied it back anyway. He was not  _hiding_ . He was tired of hiding, and he had no-one to hide from any more.

Except Potter, of course, but considering the boy had obviously avoided coming anywhere near him while he was conscious, he thought the feeling might be mutual. He found it somewhat hard to believe the claims that he'd fed Snape and sat with him, or that he'd been so concerned. If Potter was so dedicated to his well-being, why cower from their inevitable excruciating confrontation? It was... unlike him.

There was nothing for it, though. He presumed Molly would not be so cruel as to seat him near Potter, knowing how uneasy he was already about the prospect of a party.

He reclined on the bed and picked up a book Genevra had brought him. It did nothing to calm his nerves.

A soft knock a few hours later, and Percy Weasley stuck his head around the door.

"Good to see you, Sir," he said solemnly. "And congratulations on your recovery."

He looked uneasy; Snape had never stood for his pompous manner and tendency to suck up, and he always looked a little as though he didn't know what to do with himself without it. Snape found him exceedingly tiresome, but he recognised him as not the quite the idiot he appeared; on the contrary, he was exceedingly delicate, almost as defensive as Severus himself. Snape wondered what had created it, in such a warm and open household.

"Mother sends me up to say she expects the guests will be arriving soon, and she'd be delighted if you would come down and have an aperitif with them in the kitchen."

"Certainly, Mr Weasley, thank you," he said, for once succumbing to the urge to put the boy at ease. Percy beamed.

"Would you care to walk down with me, Sir?" he asked.

Snape sighed, already regretting the decision.

"Certainly," he said again, and set down his book. Percy Weasley smiled, a little more reservedly this time, and together they walked down the stairs. Snape was glad to note that not once did he require the wall. He dreaded the moment Percy found his voice.

"I say!" he said, as they got into the kitchen, and Snape winced. "I expect you haven't been keeping up with the news at the Ministry! It's quite a revolution, you know, and there's no-one here who wants to talk about it – I mean, mum and dad get far too much of it anyway and the others – well, let's just say none of them are  _quite_ as concerned about the future of our government. Yet they will be the ones that complain when there's a system they don't like! It's really –"

"Oh, Percy, dear, the man's ill, I don't think he's up for any heavy politics just yet," said Molly, and Severus tried not to look too relieved. The Weasley kitchen was steaming and smelled delicious, a dozen different pots boiling and tins baking, and Molly and Arthur sat at the table with cups of tea. Snape looked at the table, far too small to accommodate the doubtless dozens of friends and family, and frowned.

"Would you go and see how the boys are doing outside?" asked Molly, and Percy pulled a face and nodded. Snape shivered, and considered going upstairs for his robe. No, the Weasleys were not fools, it would not be cold out there, and really that chair by the cooker looked much more appealing.

"Care for a cup of tea?" said Molly kindly, as Arthur patted the seat beside him and smiled in an amicable sort of way. He looked tired. 

"Thank you," said Severus, sitting down slowly. Molly set a teacup in front of him.

"Fancy something stronger in it?" said Arthur, wielding a bottle with a grin younger than his years, and Snape smirked a little at Molly's disapproving look. The tea was good, better for the firewhiskey burn, and it calmed his nerves a little. 

"It occurs to me, Molly, I know little of the guest list," he said, and his apprehension must have shown because she patted his hand. 

"Well, the whole family, of course, with respective partners... Penelope is coming, isn't she, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded and swigged his tea.

"Oh, good, that will make it easier to seat Percy. And Charlie is definitely not bringing anyone? Not even that dubious friend with the motorbike? Ah, well. Who else? Kinglsey Shacklebolt, he's been very kind about you, even though we've put him in a tricky position. Everyone's saying he'll be Minister within the year, which sits very well with me. Professor McGonagall, she's looking forward to seeing you again –" 

"Is she," said Snape faintly.

"And Andromeda and little Teddy, oh, and Neville and Luna, Hagrid is bringing Olympe and a cake, God forbid. The seating plan has been giving me nightmares." 

Snape wondered who he would be put beside. He had a sudden flash of fear at the potentials.

"I expect they'll be arriving soon," said Arthur in a cheery manner.

Snape could not drink his tea quickly enough.

"Dear me," said Molly, looking at him. "You really do look ill. Perhaps you should lie down a little longer and I'll call you when there's food."

Snape shook his head.

"No," he said, with the feeling he was planning to walk into his own funeral. Surely, not everyone would be as forgiving as the Weasleys. Shacklebolt would take one look at him and arrest him.

"Severus, dear," said Molly softly, and Snape wished even more that he could run away. "You don't need to worry. I've sat you next to Ginny and Bill, I know you've had at least one civil exchange with them, and you're opposite Kingsley, because you seemed to get along in the war and I thought you might like the opportunity to employ some diplomacy."

"I'm not known for my diplomacy," said Snape.

"Maybe you're not," scolded Molly, "But Lord knows you must have it. I imagine it was quite necessary."

Snape smirked darkly into the dregs of his tea.

"I suppose so."

"You're a Slytherin, man," said Arthur with a grin. "I'm sure making nice is not beyond you."

Severus snorted.

"If you recall, I made the mistake of making nice to the wrong people in my youth and have been forced to do it nearly every day since. I'm somewhat mistrustful of  _nice_ ."

Molly smiled.

"Never mind that. Just relax. Be yourself. No amount of sarcasm and grumpiness will make us forget you're a good man. And Harry has been very spirited in your defence, he's spoken to everyone who knows you're alive personally."

"I hear so much about this wonderful Harry Potter – or stupid Harry Potter, according to your daughter – but the wretched boy has not been in my sight or hearing. I'm beginning to believe he's a myth."

Molly shared a smile with Arthur.

"I think he's afraid of an altercation," said Arthur. "I believe he muttered something about you killing him for staring like an idiot while you died."

"Idiot boy. He ought to be afraid for far more than that."

Molly Weasley looked stern.

"Severus, the boy is like a son to me and he's been through as much as you. Hate him if you must, but while you're under our roof I must insist you hold your tongue."

Severus had been trying to avoid thinking about Potter. Potter, who'd seen his most intimate secrets, who'd been dragged into his head, who knew too much about him. Who'd told his secrets to the  _world_ , in soppy romanticised form, and who had the ability to make him lose control at the merest word, the merest Potterish gesture. It almost made no sense, that he was so irritated at Potter avoiding him, especially since Severus realised it was probably for the best. There would be curses thrown – quite possibly blows – and Potter would drop his mystifying support, and the Weasleys would kick him out, and he would be arrested and tried and sent to Azkaban.

But Potter was unfinished business of the highest order. Didn't the boy crave the confrontation? It might even be easier in the long run, to erase that feeling in his chest at Molly's kindness, at Ginny's trusting eyes and Arthur's jovial smiles. They'd only come to realise that it was not worth it. Better it happened sooner, before he had time to get used to it.

"I will try," he found himself saying, because he couldn't stop himself reaching out, trying to pretend he was worth something. Albus had made him feel this way, and he'd hated every second of that, too. Even if it had made him feel less wretched.

Molly smiled, and he hated it. He struggled to think of some scathing remark to push her away, but a knock at the door stopped him. Severus clenched the teacup tighter, and Arthur took pity on him and topped him up. Molly bustled to the door.

"Oh, Kingsley! How nice to see you! Come in, come in!"

"I am a little early," he said, in his smooth, low voice. Pleasant and melodic, remembered Snape, and recalled as he looked up that the rest of Kingsley Shacklebolt was rather attractive too. "Perhaps I can be some help?"

Molly led him into the kitchen. Severus set down his tea and nodded, sneer repressed. Kingsley gave him a nod in return.

"No, no," said Molly, bustling over to the many pans on the stove. "It's all just bubbling away now, and the boys are out back preparing the garden."

Kingsley gave Molly a solemn smile. Molly beamed. Severus reflected that Kingsley Shacklebolt was indeed a good candidate for Minister. Good-looking, serious, calm and very competent.

"Severus," said Kingsley next, turning to him. He offered his hand. "I understand from Harry that you are to be thanked for your heroism in the face of Lord Voldemort."

Snape rose to shake his hand, repressing his shudder and nodding deferentially.

"Potter has a tendency to romanticise," he said. "It was hardly heroism. It was war."

Shacklebolt nodded seriously.

"Nevertheless, we owe you a debt, and I understand Harry wishes to make that recognised. I would be glad to help in any way I can."

"That is very kind," said Severus, who could feel the tension creeping up his back. "But I have put you in a difficult position, and I must apologise. You need not offer me what might jeopardise your position."

Arthur was smiling, amused and pleased. Severus concentrated on keeping his calm and resisting the urge to bolt. One day, all this would die down, and he could retreat somewhere into early retirement. Potions all day, his large collection of books, and good alcohol for the evening, all courtesy of Albus's secret pre-death inheritance.

"It is no trouble," said Kingsley. "I believe it will cause me no grief. I would be honoured."

Snape bowed his head in gratitude and sat before he fell.

"Tea, Kingsley?" said Arthur, as another knock sounded, a very loud one. Molly dashed out to greet the newcomers.

"Hagrid!" he heard. "Madame Maxine!"

"Do call me Olympe," said a cultured French voice.

"Oh, of course, Olympe," said Molly. "And Penelope, how good to see you! Percy is round the back, dear, I expect he'll appreciate being rescued! Would you two like to come in? Or would you prefer to join the boys around the back? I believe Fleur is there with Bill, and I expect Harry will be delighted to see you, Hagrid. Can I offer you a drink?" 

Hagrid's laughed boomed through to the kitchen. 

"I think it migh' be easier not ter squeeze into yer kitchen," he said with his customary joviality. "We'll just go round th' back. An' don't worry about drinks – I brought me own. Don' wanna drink you outta house and home, eh?" 

Molly laughed in what sounded like a slightly nervous manner.

"You know your way, of course?" 

"Yeah, course," said Hagrid. "We'll jus' nip round."

"We will be out in a minute with soup. Oh, Andromeda!" 

Snape took a deep breath and tried not to think of the masses of people (mainly Gryffindor people) who might want to talk to him about the war, might want to yell at him, even, and really he would rather not be reminded of the war just yet. And Andromeda had always looked so alarmingly like Bella. He made a mental note to ask what had happened to the other Black sisters. 

Molly came back into the kitchen with Andromeda Tonks in tow. There was a small bundle in her arms – Lupin's child, he thought with a jolt. Andromeda was a little less beautiful than her sisters, with long dark hair she kept plaited and far more lines around her eyes than Bella had ever developed, waxy and stretched as she was. It made her look a little more motherly, a little more approachable, and the babe in her arms rather completed the picture. She looked very tired.

"Sit down, dear, would you like a drink? Cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely, Molly," she said softly. She smiled at Kingsley as she sat down, but gave Severus a cold look. He wondered if it was a specific offence or a general dislike that prompted it.

"Andromeda," he said, nodding his head. "I am sorry for your losses."

She laughed dully.

"Oh Severus, spare me the niceties. As I understand it, you hated them both. Not that you care for anyone but yourself anyway."

Molly looked shocked; Snape was merely irritated.

"What do you know of who I care for?" he said, with a sneer to be proud of. "I found your daughter an irritating student, for which I will not apologise, and I did not hate your son-in-law so much as his acquaintance with your wretched dog of a cousin – for which I will also not apologise."

"As if you'd apologise for anything," said Andromeda. "I remember you in school – foul little boy."

"And you were a stuck up bitch, much like your sisters," snapped Snape. "But the fact remains I was entirely sincere. Their deaths were senseless and too soon, and I'd thank you not to presume you know how I feel."

Andromeda went quiet. Snape did the only thing he could, and drank his tea. Molly was giving him a strange look; Severus prepared himself for recriminations, but she only smiled.

"Well, I was quite beginning to think there wasn't any Severus Snape left in that head, you've been so quiet," she said, and smiled to diffuse the tension. He glared. "Dromeda, dear, may I hold Teddy? You know, we've all been dying to see him. Harry in particular has been worrying, I think he takes his godfatherly duties very seriously, what with... his own experiences."

"Stupid boy," snapped Snape, before he could stop himself; he did not seem to be able to hold his tongue when Potter was concerned. "There's a difference between being oprhaned and kept in a cupboard and being orphaned but left among good and loving people. I'm sure it'll be spoiled rotten."

" _He_ ," said Molly sternly, then frowned. "A cupboard? I know the muggles were bad, Severus, but surely you exaggerate?"

Snape snorted.

"You mean he hasn't told you? For the first eleven years of his life he slept in a cupboard, ate the scraps from his bloated cousin's meals and did all the manual labour he could be expected to manage. Did you never wonder why he was such a short, skinny little brat? James Potter was never that small."

"You must be mistaken, Severus, Dumbledore –"

"His first Hogwarts letter was addressed to  _The Cupboard Under The Stairs_ . Dumbledore knew all about it, Molly, and ignored it for his 'greater cause'."

"But how do  _you_ know, Severus? Do you mean to say you knew about it all along and still gave him such trouble?"

"I wasn't the only one with a bad childhood," said a soft voice, and everyone whirled. Potter was stood in the doorway, face scarlet and eyes downcast in shame, and Severus recognised the feeling behind the look with aching familiarity.

"It wasn't even that bad, really. I mean, Dudley's leftovers were the average person's meal sometimes, and Uncle Vernon never hit me –" a quick glance at Snape, or more accurately Snape's knees, and he corrected, "Never really hit me, at least, not much –" he went even deeper scarlet, and looked up at Molly. "And Dudley's cast-offs may have been hideous but they were Marks and Spencers, and when I got to Hogwarts I had money and friends and family and people on my side – I was lucky, really. The table's set, Mrs Weasley."

"Call me Molly, dear, please," murmured the woman, looking appalled, and Potter nodded and fled. 

Snape stared at the space he had occupied and hated it. Potter had implied even more private details of Snape's life, which was supposed to be his, for Merlin's sake – but then, what had he been doing but spilling Potter's childhood secrets? Not that he'd known they were secrets – could Molly really have been so deceived? Had they really not known? He'd assumed that was why Potter received such sympathy from the woman. Obviously the boy had managed to win her affections on his own merits, though clearly it wasn't that hard. And why was Potter avoiding his eyes? It was infuriating, that the boy had somehow developed a cowardly streak amongst all that idiotic bravery.

There was another thing to hate, thought Severus. This was his first proper look at Potter in a while. At some point, the boy had decided to cease being the skinny little clone of James that Snape had been imagining. Harry Potter was too pretty to be like his father, too delicate. Harry Potter was now rather beautiful.

"Sorry, tea, wasn't it?" said Molly to Andromeda, sniffing a little and pulling Snape out of his disturbing reverie, and bustled into the steamy corners of the room to hunt down a mug. Snape downed the rest of his doctored tea, and shook his head when Arthur offered to top him up again. His throat burned, but it was a welcome distraction.

"I think I will get some air," he said softly, and rose. He walked outside, unsure where he could go to find peace as the back garden would be dominated by Weasley children and the front garden would have more visitors traversing the path soon enough. He chose to rest against the front fence, angled out into the road, and he didn't notice Ginevra behind him until she cleared her throat.

"What did you say to Harry?" she demanded, hands on hips. Snape snorted.

"Nothing," he said. "As far as I can tell, the boy is trying his level best to pretend I don't exist."

"You said  _something_ ," said Ginevra, her customary ferocity coming to the fore. "He was laughing earlier, he seemed  _happier_ , but now he's doing his stupid shutting everyone out thing and it drives me insane! So what. Did. You.  _Say_ ?"

"I did not say anything intentionally hurtful. If you want to know more, I expect the best course of action would be to ask him."

"But he won't talk! I asked Ron and Hermione about it and apparently he does it all the time – but surely he shouldn't to me, right? I mean, I'm meant to be the one he turns to!"

"How much do you know of Potter's childhood, Miss Weasley?" he said, sighing.

"I know his Aunt and Uncle weren't very nice. I know Fred and George once staged a rescue and there were bars on his window. Why, what's it got to do with you? You didn't say anything about his parents, did you? I don't think he could take that, especially not from you. You're the only one left who knew his mother, you know."

"No, Miss Weasley," he said, with patience he did not know he had. "I was going to make the point that they were considerably worse than 'not very nice' and that as a consequence Potter is a social incompetent. He has some not inconsiderable issues and I very much doubt he would know how to start in sharing. Years of being ignored coupled with Dumbledore heaping responsibility for the world exclusively on his shoulders has made him egocentric, repressed, overly responsible, irrational and angry. And if you are feeling the urge to deny this assessment, I think you might do very well to reconsider pursuing a relationship with him."

Ginevra shut her mouth against her defence, which would have been undoubtedly spirited.

"You really know him, don't you?" she said quietly.

"Unfortunately," said Snape. "A symptom of being forced to rifle through his head regularly."

Ginevra looked a little puzzled at this, but quickly pulled back to her fierce look.

"Except you don't know him at all," she said. "You may know all of his faults but you know nothing about his good points. He's braver and smarter and kinder and more caring than you'd ever give him credit for, and despite all the rubbish he's been through he's still trying to be good. And he really cares about you, he's had about a million arguments with people he's never yelled at before over you, so if you did say anything to hurt him –"

"I assure you, I did nothing more than inadvertently dredge up unpleasant memories. And he did quite the same to me, with far more intent. His help is all very well, but being in the same room as him seems at best inadvisable."

"Oh," said Ginny softly. She paused. "Are you okay, then?"

Snape stared at her.

"Yes," he said, startled into an answer. "Yes, Miss Weasley, I'm quite fine. Potter may have a bent for repression, but I assure you I am king of it."

Ginny giggled nervously.

"All right," she said, and strode off back the way she'd come. When Severus had finished staring blankly at the space she'd occupied, wondering just what had gotten into the heads of the Weasley clan, he looked up to meet the eyes of Professor McGonagall.

"Severus," she said, voice cool.

"Minerva," he replied, and where had his capacity to sound calm and collected gone?

Minerva just looked at him for a long moment, lips pursed, hair in its customary severe bun, transporting him uncomfortably to his youth. Where could he begin to justify himself to her? She'd watched him take pleasure in abusing his power, watched him allow the Carrows more licence than he would have liked, watched him take out all the frustrations of his position on her precious Gryffindors.

"Minerva –"

"Oh, Severus!" she burst suddenly. "Why didn't you tell me? Oh, don't answer that, you silly man, I know why, but playing double agent all on your own? Surely you could have confided in  _someone_ . I made life very difficult for you at Hogwarts, when all you needed to do was tell me and we could have made some sort of plan!"

"It was not  _safe_ to tell you, Minerva, for me or you. And do you think you could do it? Watch me do what I did, tolerate the helplessness, the sense of responsibility, when you already had so much to do? Not to mention, could you forgive me, knowing how much of my pleasure was not faked and how easy I seemed to have it?"

"It was not yours to bear all on your own!" said McGonagall, and to his surprise she sounded almost tearful. "Oh, Albus did a good job on you, didn't he? You and Harry, pushing everyone away, taking responsibility when the whole world would be willing to help you bear the weight –"

"But the whole world did not have to. I was perfectly capable, Minerva –"

"Oh, you idiot," she said, and hugged him. Snape went rigid with shock. Certainly, he had seen Minerva cry before, but hug? It was a rare thing indeed, and certainly not something he would have imagined receiving.

Mercifully, she let go quickly, and smoothed down his waistcoat in a brisk fashion.

"You look good," she said, all business now. "Not hiding under all that robe. Your tailor must be a formidable one, to persuade you out of them."

"Why must everyone accuse me of hiding?" snapped Snape. "I happen to be very fond of my usual robes."

"So why not wear them tonight, Severus?" said McGonagall, brow arching.

"To prove that I have no need to  _hide_ ," he said, crossing his arms, and McGonagall snorted.

"Walk me up the path, Severus," she said, not bothering to make it a request, and Severus surrendered his arm without fuss. They returned to the kitchen; Molly looked quietly pleased to see the two of them standing together, though Severus doubted that this would be the end of it from Minerva.

A moment or two of greeting, and Severus was just contemplating another tea when another two faces at the door – a dreamy, vacant one, belonging to Loony Lovegood, whom Severus would have to learn to call Luna despite the fact she'd waffled about him being a tragic soul to the  _Prophet_ , and another painfully familiar one which Snape had been dreading ever since he'd made his rash promise of an apology.

"Oh, Luna, Neville! How nice to see you!" said Molly, all brightness, and Neville smiled at her nervously before looking straight at Snape. He was alarmed to realise it was he who wanted to flinch, not the boy. Severus nodded, and Longbottom looked away.

Molly, of course, did not notice the tension, though Lovegood looked curious.

"I think that's the last of us, then!" she said brightly. "Shall we go out to the table?"

A bustle as those who'd been seated rose, and Severus decided he was going to have to simply do what his conscience demanded. He'd swallowed more pride than he thought possible these past weeks, a little more could hardly hurt.

"Longbottom," he snapped, and it was a strange relief to note he could still make the boy flinch.

"W-what?" he said, and Severus forbade himself to appreciate the stutter.

"May I have a word?"

Longbottom looked mystified, of course, and not a little terrified; the rest of the room looked curious, apart from Minerva, who was using her most threatening glare. He rolled his eyes at her and tapped his foot impatiently as the room emptied.

"Yes, Sir?" said Longbottom softly, when all was quiet, and Severus worked his jaw, trying to form the words.

"I feel there are some things I need to explain to you," he said, and he realised he was still doing his teaching voice when the boy looked alarmed. He took a deep breath.

"Longbottom," he started, and the alarm seemed to fade from the boy's face a little, as though he was beginning to get what Severus was trying to do.

"You have been an appalling student over the years, appalling to the point of deadly, and I confess I have had less than zero patience for it. You may have noticed."

Longbottom, to his surprise, grinned ruefully.

"I'm not going to apologise, as I fear it may give one or both of us heart failure, but I will say that in the past year you have proved most of my many and varied insults quite wrong."

The grin faded to plain surprise. It was not a terribly attractive look.

"Shut your mouth, Longbottom, you look like a fish. You may have noticed that last year I may have targeted you rather more than some. This was partly because of your little rebellion group, but initially I assure you it was pure vindictiveness. I believed you easy to cow, and the more compliant Gryffindors there were, the easier it would be. Of course, compliant Gryffindors is a simple impossibility, and you clearly asserted your right to be a member of that incredibly infuriating House. I do not take kindly to being proved wrong, so I'll admit it was more than easy to come up with creative ways to make you suffer.

"However, quite rapidly I came to realise I was vastly underestimating you. Every detention you survived, and seemed stronger for it, and your detentions after that became mostly curiosity on my part. Basically, Longbottom, you impressed me, and I thought it ought to be said. You are worthy of your position in the House of the brave, and I was gravely mistaken to ever imply otherwise."

Severus took in a deep breath. He'd said it, and there was bile in his throat for it, but it was just one little thing to do to make it easier. One little thing before he could retire to his quiet cottage and never think of the war again.

Longbottom was silent for a long moment. Eventually, he looked up, and choked out:

" _Imply_ , sir?"

"Don't push it, Longbottom," he said, but to his surprise he did not mean it. 

Neville nodded stiffly, and walked out of the kitchen. Slowly, and somewhat robotically.

Severus collapsed against the counter, and covered his face with his hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Snape had come to the conclusion that no amount of doctored tea was going to get him through this.

"What on earth did you do to him?" said Molly, and Severus jumped.

"Apologised," he said. "In a manner of speaking."

Molly's look went from angry to pleased in a second.

"Ah, that explains it," she said. "Come on, help me levitate some of this to the table."

Severus, extremely reluctantly, levitated a frighteningly large stack of bread rolls that had somehow all come from one tiny oven. He hung back, and kept them hovering near Molly so that he could at least pretend to himself that he was making a stealthy entrance. Of course, Molly had cruelly put him at the centre of the massive table, but at least he was protected from Potter by Ginevra, and Bill, on his other side, was perfectly tolerable. He was, as promised, opposite Shacklebolt; he was also in the eyeline of Minerva, on Shacklebolt's left, and Charlie Weasley, who gave him a broad and mystifying grin immediately before he was waylaid by a very large, very hideous, tweed jacket.

A moment of not entirely unreasonable fear gripped him until Hagrid clapped him on the shoulder and said, unusually solemnly:

"I always knew yeh were a good man."

Snape attempted not to collapse, and Hagrid gave him a nod and sat at the head of the table, beside the impressive figure of Madame Maxine.

Snape sank weakly to his chair and played 'count the people trying not to look at him'. Just less than half the table, he thought, including Andromeda but not, to his irritation, including Longbottom, who shot him a half-grimace, half-grin and looked away quickly.

The conversation lulled as he sat. Ginevra turned to him and grinned, slightly ruefully.

"You look nice," she said, and blushed; not for the first time, Snape thought that had he been born a Weasley he would have invented a cure for blushing. He recalled that certain members of the family had – or at least, had learned to relocate their blush, so that only a small area of them clashed horribly.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley," he said politely, not completely beyond grace, even in the face of insanity. He could feel several stares; Potter's favourite boy Weasley was gaping openly, as though he'd forgotten Snape was going to be there.

"How are you feeling?" asked Bill, smiling, and everyone seemed to remember themselves, returning to their conversation.

"Better," said Snape uncomfortably.

"I think you might have given young Neville over there heart failure, you know," he teased.

"I already live to regret it," he said, sighing.

"Sorry, Snape, you've shown your hand, now. You're a good man, and nothing will convince us otherwise."

"I imagine I could prove you wrong," said Severus, and hated the fact that he did not want to.

Bill smiled, and shook his head.

"I am not a nice man," said Severus softly, "And I am at a loss as to why no-one recalls it. I assure you, it was not all an act for the Dark Lord."

"Doesn't matter," said Bill, grabbing a bread roll from their new location between the plates. "You've had reason enough to be horrible. You've had a horrible life. But you've got mum on your case now – she's not going to let you get away with it now you're fed and clothed and among friends, and you'll certainly not be able to push her away if she's decided to take you under her wing."

"I'm not a child," said Snape irritably.

"Don't worry, she'll leave you alone if you ask. Unlike us."

"I have asked," he said, half-heartedly despairing.

"Obviously you weren't sufficiently convincing," said Bill. "Or sufficiently polite."

Severus sighed, and looked to the bowl of soup he'd been given. He took a roll and began. So did everyone else, still chattering between mouthfuls; it reminded Severus of Hogwarts, though not at the teachers' table – it was hard to maintain conversations with the clatter of hundreds of students stuffing themselves.

Potter, he noticed, was quiet, and dipped his bread into his soup with little enthusiasm. He spoke quietly to Weasley and Granger, and leaned tiredly on Ginny when she spoke in his ear.

Severus felt irritated. They'd fought for this, the ungrateful brat. Whatever was stopping him from his rightful celebration?

He caught Shacklebolt's eye as he looked away from the boy.

"We are all worried about him," said Shacklebolt softly, and Snape snorted.

"I can't fathom what's wrong with the brat," he said, equally softly, though with considerably more scorn.

"He's been through much," said Shacklebolt, "Perhaps all he needs is time."

"Yes, and in the meantime I am regaled with tales of how he isn't eating or paying attention to his girlfriend and how he's generally being a grumpy brat. I believe I am subjected to it as the only person in the house who can't escape."

Shacklebolt smiled.

"Would you prefer you heard not a word of him?"

"At least that would mean the boy was happy," snapped Snape, then cursed Shacklebolt as the man smiled slowly. He'd spent a long time pretending he didn't worry about Potter; he did not appreciate being tricked into showing his hand.

Ah well, at least Potter himself would be none the wiser. Though the boy was not stupid – he ought to put two and two together and realise all those times he'd followed him around and tried to catch him breaking rules were not purely vindictive. Just... mostly.

He finished his soup in silence. The main course followed not long after. It was a roast; Severus speculated there had to be at least half a cow to feed this many people, and a decent-sized vegetable plot. He wondered where the Weasleys were getting the money for this – presumably, from the same sort of place they were getting the money for his brand new clothes. Did the whole family pitch in? Certainly there was no-one at the table who was vastly independently wealthy, except perhaps George Weasley as the now sole owner of that dreadful joke shop, and Potter, of course...

A creeping sense of horror climbed its way up his spine. Oh Good Lord... surely Potter would not...

If anyone else told him he looked good in Potter's purchases, he didn't think he would be responsible for his actions.

He glared at the boy, who was once again convincing nobody that he was actually eating his meal. He became aware that everyone else was taking in this charade with shifty, troubled glances, and Granger kept nudging him and whispering. Potter snapped after the fourth or fifth time, and that made Snape snap.

"Potter! Either get over your self-indulgent little sulk and _eat_, or for Merlin's sake leave the table, because your ridiculously unconvincing pretence is annoying and obnoxiously rude!"

Everyone stopped and stared. Ginevra looked as though she wanted to be angry but wasn't; Granger and Weasley shot each other apprehensive looks. Shacklebolt raised his eyebrows.

Potter, for the first time, looked him in the eye, and there was the look Snape had been waiting for. That insolent green glare, like Lily's yet worlds apart, familiar and strangely relieving. So Potter had not lost his fundamental strength of fury, then.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Potter stabbed his fork into a mangled piece of beef, opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to choke on his anger – instead, he raised his fork and bit it with an audible click. He chewed defiantly, and Snape snorted and turned back to his meal. He glanced up at the table; most were looking politely away, but Molly was looking at him with a softening expression, something which looked horrifyingly like gratitude.

Snape sighed and returned to his meal. He'd worried about showing Kingsley his hand – how about the entire table? Though he hoped he'd maintained just the right amount of unpleasantness that most would not look for the sentiment beyond, and even if they did they might only suspect him of softening to the Weasleys more than to Potter.

Which, he reminded himself sternly, was hardly a bad thing, as he was imposing on their hospitality quite impressively.

He waited until the noise levels rose to their previous enthusiastic chatter, and chanced another glance at Potter. His eyes were down, now, and he was viewing the meal as something to be conquered. His fork moved to his mouth with strict regularity.

He caught Ginevra's eye. She smiled weakly.

Snape rolled his eyes and prayed for dessert.

Minerva must have glanced up and caught the hunted look in Snape's eyes – she'd know it well enough, from any staff meeting where Albus tried to get him to do something – because she leant forward a little and asked him what his plans were 'once all this name-clearing nonsense has blown over' and 'whether it had anything to do with that dreary Potions business'. Of course, this encouraged their usual healthy debate over the relative merits of their subjects, but it also got Snape thinking. If Potter's mysterious hare-brained schemes worked – and this was a big if – Snape would be free. What would he do?

'That dreary Potions business' could be a business indeed, if Severus fancied it. He said something to that effect, to which Kingsley smiled and offered him advice on Ministry licensing, and the conversation seemed to progress from there in a comfortable way that Snape was extremely relieved to find diverted him through the remainder of the course and through into the dessert.

He was not quite so distracted as to not shoot Potter glances to check if he was still eating. He ate everything on his plate, and glared whenever he caught Snape looking.

He was also not so distracted as to notice that Charlie Weasley seemed to be competing with Molly for the title of Warmest Weasley, at least in his direction, though what it meant, he had no clue.

Coffee was served in the setting sun and and below the murmur of talk the wails of Celestina Warbeck started up on the wireless. Not one of her wretched ballads, mercifully, but an upbeat tune which had Molly looking at the candle-lit lawn with an unsubtle expression of longing. Bill Weasley obviously caught it, as he invited his charming wife to dance, a brisk and showy swing with dips and twirls that had the women of the table sighing and the men of the table going slightly glazed. Save Potter, he noticed, who stared quite blankly at the two of them as though the concept of dancing was quite alien when there was so much grieving to be done. Severus resisted the urge to beat him about the head.

Arthur, obviously no fool if he managed to deal with such a dominating wife, offered his hand immediately, and Molly blushed a little and fussed over clearing the table.

"We'll get it, won't we, George," offered Charlie, and the subdued twin nodded and smiled a little.

"Oh, well, alright then," she said, and giggled like a schoolgirl. Severus was beginning to realise just how alien this warm, effusive family was – Minerva caught his eye, catching his expression, and her lips twitched.

"Care to dance, Severus?" she offered.

"As I believe I said at the Yule Ball, Minerva, the only way I could imagine dancing is under the influence of some dire curse."

"Tell me about it," muttered Potter, perfectly audible to most of the table, though Severus suspected it was a rather cruel way of wiping the optimistic look from Ginevra's face. Severus cast him a scornful look – if that idiotic best friend of his had somehow obtained the grace to ask his terrifying girlfriend to dance, Potter should have the decency to find some flimsy excuse.

"Then might I have your hand, Minerva?" said Shacklebolt, and Minerva smiled primly and nodded.

"I'm not dancing until there's some decent music. Put on the Raving Runesters!" said Charlie loudly, nudging George. "Come on, lets leave the coupled-up gits to their ick."

"Raving Runesters?" said George. "If you even think about it I'll be forced to cut my other ear off."

A passable attempt at his former humour, Severus thought, whilst wincing at the circumstances that led to the first missing ear.

Snape glanced at the rest of the table and realised with alarm he had been left alone with only Andromeda (entirely absorbed in soothing her grandchild), Lovegood, Longbottom, a sulking Potter and a very angry-looking Ginevra.

"Miss Weasley," he murmured, filled with a sudden malicious urge. "If you wish to make your oaf of a boyfriend absolutely furious and perhaps a little more attentive, I might reconsider my previous statement regarding dancing."

Ginny stared at him, and he smirked. She returned it, a small, slow smile that broadened as she took in his proposal.

"Care to dance, Miss Weasley? If you are available, of course," he said, much louder. Potter stared, and it was wonderful to slip back into the comfortable role of bastard.

"Why, Professor Snape, I would love to dance," she said maliciously, and Potter's shock darkened to outrage. Snape shot him a smirk. Oh, it was immature even for him, and rather disturbing if he thought about it, but the look on Potter's face was too satisfying.

The song changed as they rose, some dire classic that would do to waltz to.

"I assume you know how to waltz, Miss Weasley?"

"Do you?" she said defiantly, though another blush rather ruined it.

"I was required to teach the Slytherins," he said with distaste, leading her past the other dancers to a shadowy edge, drawing a few eyes from those who were not overly engrossed.

"You don't have to dance, you know," she said. "Not just for me."

Snape snorted, and put a hand on her waist. She straightened, assuming a stiffly formal posture, and took his hand with more confidence.

"Whatever makes you think it is just for you? I like seeing Potter irate as much as you do."

She grinned, and Severus reflected they really were a terrible match. If one of Potter's other friends had been snubbed, they would not have gone out of their way for revenge, or to make Potter jealous. Ginny could be as casually and unconsciously vindictive as her brothers, and knew all the tricks to get her way. It would not suit Potter at all, with his lack of guile and social graces. He probably hadn't even noticed the careful games she'd been playing all her teenage life, simply to hook him.

It struck Severus suddenly that she was exactly the type of Gryffindor girl he would have hated, back in school – one of the pretty ones, overflowing with entitlement and casually cruel to anyone that did not matter to them. They were the types of girls that had always surrounded Lily, who'd eventually pulled her with them, cementing the divide, sending her to James.

But he could hardly bring himself to hate her. She was just a child, playing games with other children.

Snape counted them in, and they began a waltz that was surprisingly graceful, considering the fact that they were both entirely unfamiliar with each other and Snape had not danced since the Yule ball, and before that not since he was eighteen.

"Can Harry even see us here?" said Ginny.

"He will move," said Snape confidently, and glanced up at the table. He was right - Potter had moved closer to Andromeda, ostensibly to fuss over the child, but he was casting glares at the dancers. Severus smirked and twirled Ginny, who laughed and looked a little more at ease.

"What you said, about me and Harry and lots of children..." she said. Snape rolled his eyes and dipped her, allowing her the opportunity to grin flirtatiously at Potter and allowing him to catch the reaction as the fury set in.

"What about it?" he sighed.

"Did you mean it? Do you really think we're that suited?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I never said I thought you were suited," he said.

"Really?" she squeaked, faltering slightly in her waltz – a raised eyebrow brought her back in step. She looked appalled; served her right, really, coming to him for reassurance over Potter.

"Really?" she asked, more quietly, casting a glance at Potter. "So you don't think we should? I mean, not that I was going to, I'm way too young and I want to try out for professional Quidditch, can hardly do that with kids or whatever." She pulled a face.

Snape shrugged.

"I think that Potter has only one ill-thought-out desire for his future – a conventional loving family to come home to, a white picket fence and many smiling children. But as far as I can see this is not an image you particularly share with him, or if it is, it's hardly one that would suit you. Your face at the mention of children, for example."

"Well, yeah – I'm seventeen. I don't want kids! But Mum says I'll want them when I'm older, that I just need time to mature –"

"And I hardly think the best way to _mature_ is to attach yourself to Potter in any permanent way. I am not entirely convinced you even know each other that well. Do you talk much?"

"I – well – Harry's not that talkative –"

Their waltz was suffering somewhat, now, more of a slow revolve on the spot.

"I would also question, Miss Weasley, your motivation for wanting the brat. Socially dysfunctional, pleasant to look at but not an idol, sullen and inattentive – is he really your type? I rather think you fared better with boys like Corner on your arm, earnest and popular and overjoyed to have you. Potter may be every young girl's dream hero –" Snape pulled a face, "But the reality hardly measures up to the fantasy. I suspect you will be disappointed in the long run."

Ginny stopped dancing. Snape coughed pointedly and counted them back in. The girl moved stiffly back into position, but her heart was clearly no longer in it.

"That's not true," she murmured. Snape did not think her even slightly convincing.

The song drew to a merciful close.

Snape sighed, made a show of bowing and kissing her hand, and retreated from the dance floor and away from the light. She was already plastering on a bright smile as she strode back to Potter's side.

"If I'm not allowed the Raving Runesters, we are at least having some Weird Sisters, alright?" shouted Charlie, and an obnoxiously upbeat example started up. There were mixed cheers and groans, and Snape sighed and retreated to the end of the garden. After so much time spent being social, mending bridges, forcing himself to be nicer, he was bone-tired.

He leaned against a tree, and looked out at the field beyond the house, moonlit and grey. It was eerie down here, with the revelry sounding distant and the breeze causing ripples in the crops, but he rather thought it suited him better. He stared out for a long time.

He was cold and stiff and about to return when he heard the soft sound of footsteps behind him. He lit his wand and shone it in the face of the visitor.

Charlie Weasley smiled back at him.

"Thought I saw you slip down here," he said. "I think mum thinks you've gone to bed, tired out from all that dancing with my sister. You'd better not have any designs on her."

The comment seemed jesting, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness and interestingly, of curiosity, as though he wondered whether Severus would entertain the concept.

"Never fear," said Snape. "The thought of a student is appalling."

"Even an older one?" teased Charlie, and Snape wondered what he meant by that.

"Perhaps not quite so appalling," he said. "Depending upon the student."

He gave the boy a smirk that could easily be flirtatious, and Charlie grinned. Snape wondered at the ridiculousness of the idea.

"Do you wanna sit down? There's a bench round the back of the shed I used to sit on and smoke." he grinned. "No cigarettes any more, but I brought down my Firewhisky to warm us up."

Snape nodded and Charlie led the way. Snape sat gratefully, and Charlie slid next to him. The muscular thigh was a welcome warmth against him. Charlie conjured a small fire in front of them, and knocked back a swig of drink. He handed it to Snape with a conspiring grin.

Snape took it, silent, and threw back a large swallow. It flushed him pleasantly.

"Gets a bit hectic here, doesn't it?" he said softly.

"Indeed," murmured Snape, wishing he was unsettled by the press of a Weasley boy against him, but instead relaxing against the shed and accepting the warmth.

"It's so different from Romania," he continued. "It can be days before you get back to base camp and see anyone again, and even though our parties are pretty wild –" Charlie grinned ruefully, "There's also hours of peace and time to think. Most people don't think I do much thinking, throwing myself in front of dragons and such, but I like being able to reflect sometimes."

"Mmm," Snape agreed, relaxed now.

"Sorry," said Charlie. "You probably know exactly what I mean and were perfectly fine on your own in the peace and quiet." He patted Snape's hand where it lay on his own knee, then caught it in both of his.

"God, your hands are cold," he said, rubbing one to warm it up, and Snape rather wanted to push him away. Charlie clearly caught the look, because he released him ruefully.

"Sorry," he said, stretching out his legs. "It's just such a change to see you not swooping around doing that dark and forbidding thing. You did it so well in school, we all wondered about you. Everyone had wild theories about your mysterious past. Not half as interesting as the truth, of course, but a lot more lewd."

Snape smirked at the fire.

"How do you know that I have simply not told anyone about the lewd parts?"

Charlie laughed softly. It was a pleasant laugh, honest and deep, undeniably a man's laugh, and any thoughts of the stocky little ginger boy he'd taught vanished.

"Oh, well don't feel you need to hold back on my account," he said. Snape snorted and took another swig of the firewhisky.

"How much of this bottle have you had?" He asked, looking at the level.

"After years of drinking contests with big burly dragon tamers, I could put away two of them," he said. "So you don't need to worry about me."

"I would not anyway," said Snape, and Charlie laughed.

There was a quiet pause, where both men looked into the fire. It was strangely comfortable, but Snape felt the stirrings of a tension he had not felt in a long time. He scolded himself – he was imagining things, of course. Charlie Weasley, graced with a warm, charming smile and bright blue eyes and a body that would induce lust or jealousy in most, could not possibly be flirting.

"Your brother mentioned something of the wild speculation you spoke of," he said. Charlie sat up a little.

"Really? Which bits?"

"Something about being McGonagall's sex slave," said Snape, snorting, "Which I can assure you is not at all true."

Charlie laughed. Snape smirked.

"But it begs the question – what other bits were there, Mr Weasley?"

"Oh, don't do that teacher voice," said Charlie, grinning and looking away.

"Whyever not, Mr Weasley?" murmured Snape silkily, and he was close enough to feel the slight shiver that ran through Charlie.

Charlie turned dark eyes on Severus. All trace of a smile was gone.

"Because it drove me absolutely wild in school, and if you do it again I can't promise I will be responsible for my own actions."

Severus felt the blood rush from his head even as he felt himself stiffen in surprise. Charlie blushed and slid away slightly.

"Sorry," he said, "I've appalled you, haven't I? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I'll go." He moved to get up. Snape caught him by the wrist.

"Whatever made you think I am uncomfortable?" he said, surprised at how easily a seductive note crept into his voice, after all this time. "I was merely... surprised."

Charlie sat down immediately, whole body angled towards Severus, and there was absolutely no reason nowadays why he could not have a liaison with this man.

"Surprised?" said Charlie, "It must be hard to surprise you."

"Consider it an achievement, Mr Weasley," he said, and Charlie grinned and leaned forward to kiss him.

Charlie was all stubble and enthusiasm, a quick tongue taking control as he arched against Snape, and Severus felt a flush of arousal that drowned out all the years of caution and discretion and made him pull Charlie close. Charlie groaned, a frustrated noise, and pulled Snape upright, not breaking the desperate kiss as he pressed himself forward. Severus felt the pressure of Charlie's erection with a thrill that swelled his own, and he laced a hand underneath Charlie's shirt and pulled him close with bruising fingers. Charlie groaned again and pushed him against the shed, grinning before he dived back into the kiss, pinning Snape to the wall as he ground his hips.

Snape broke the kiss to gasp and press back, and Charlie moved his head back a little to grin at Snape again, a grin that faded into need as Snape slid a hand to cup the bulge in Charlie's jeans. Charlie rutted against him, wanton and uninhibited, and how long had it been since he'd felt this? Pleasure for pleasure's sake, with no agendas or games or fear?

Charlie seemed to wrench himself out of his gasping, needy state, laughing breathlessly as he pulled Snape's hand away. He grinned wickedly, and that was something else Snape had forgotten – laughter during sex, breathless and simple and fun, Charlie's sparkling eyes reminding him that life did not always have to be bad. Charlie locked eyes with him and unbuttoned his trousers, sliding a hot, rough hand into Snape's brand new boxers, and grinned when Snape threw his head back and groaned. Charlie pumped, an enthusiastic rhythm, and it really had been far too long – the temptation just to let go was almost too much. To distract himself, he fiddled with the button of Charlie's trousers, wrapping a hand around the man and giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. Charlie's hand squeezed, his smooth rhythm faltering somewhat, and Snape twitched his hips up into the hand around him. Charlie pulled himself together, snapping back into his rhythm, and they battled to be the one who kept control. Then Charlie kissed him, biting and breathy, and Severus knew he was entirely lost – he came into the space between their bodies, shuddering and twitching the hand around Charlie, pleased when the boy snapped his hips and followed suit.

They stayed together for a while, breathing hard, eyes closed, and then Charlie drew his hand away and Snape followed suit. A moment of fearful awkwardness, then Charlie grinned and Snape relaxed.

"That was –" he began, and Snape smirked.

"Quite," he agreed, and Charlie waved his wand to clean up the mess.

Severus remembered where they were with a strange amusement, and shot a glance at the dark garden.

And met the wide eyes of Harry Potter.

A moment of shock, and Charlie whirled to see what was wrong – Potter stared for a second, and then fled.

Snape grimaced. Wonderful.

"Oh my God," said Charlie, looking panicked. "Was that Harry? How long do you think he was stood there?"

Snape sighed.

"I was hardly paying attention."

"Do you think he's going to be angry?" said Charlie. "Do you think he'll tell anyone?"

"Dirty secret, am I?" said Snape, and smirked when Charlie looked mortified.

"That's not what I meant," he said, and Snape waved off his concern. He didn't care either way. "I just mean – I mean, not everyone exactly knows about me, and my ideal way of coming out doesn't really involve a screaming Harry Potter telling everyone I've just got off with a teacher behind the shed."

Snape snorted.

"I don't think it's his style," he said. "I doubt he'll tell anyone. If he does it will be Granger and your youngest brother, so if you do not want them to know, you may wish to talk to him."

"I'd better at least see if he's alright," said Charlie, and with a regretful look at Snape he dashed back up the garden. Snape sighed, smoothed his trousers, and put out the fire. He walked more casually up to the house.

"Have you seen Harry?" he heard Charlie say, ahead of him with Bill and Fleur. Snape paused in the shadows to listen.

"He came storming past a second ago," said Bill. "Looked a bit dazed, I think he went straight to bed. You alright, Charlie? You look a bit dazed too."

Bill gave his brother a wicked smirk, and Charlie grinned slowly.

"Yeah, you could say that," he said. "Um, I'll tell you about it later maybe. Right now I'd rather find Harry."

"Get an eyeful, did he? Oh dear." Bill did not sound particularly worried. "Don't worry, Charlie, once he gets over the shock he'll be fine. Leave him overnight and you can talk to him in the morning."

Charlie looked troubled, but nodded and headed over to where the younger members of the Weasley clan were chatting around the table. Snape sighed, and walked past Bill and Fleur without looking at them.

"Oh, Severus!" called Molly, pausing in her slow dance with Arthur, and Snape paused. "I thought you'd gone to bed!"

"I was just going," he said. "Goodnight, Molly. The dinner was excellent."

"Thank you, Severus!" she said, glancing at Arthur and blushing like a teenager, and Snape nodded to her.

He dragged himself up to bed with bone-deep exhaustion, and could not even bring himself to worry about Potter.

He would deal with it in the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

In the morning, the exhaustion he'd been feeling since his death returned in full force, accompanied by the after-effects of Firewhisky and a mental hangover that made him curl up under the duvet in a way he had not had the luxury of doing in a long time. Molly came in a while later, attempting not to wake him, and she jumped when he sat upright and looked appreciatively over the bacon sandwiches.

"Oh, Severus! I didn't mean to wake you, it was a tiring night last night. Though I must say, you looked very well. Are you feeling better?"

Snape sighed.

"I am, Molly, thank you. I expect I will be able to remove myself soon."

Molly gave him a dark look.

"There is absolutely no hurry whatsoever. I may start letting you get your own breakfast, but this house is quiet without so many of my children and this bedroom is not needed. You do not need to go anywhere any time soon. It would hardly be safe just yet, anyway!"

Snape sighed. He was in no hurry to leave, if he were honest with himself – not with bacon sandwiches and kindness in such supply.

"Charlie warned me that he might have gotten you a bit drunk last night, so I took the liberty of adding a hangover potion to your daily dosages."

"Your son clearly thinks little of my capacity for alcohol," said Snape dryly, but downed both vials anyway. He bit into the bacon sandwich quickly, ridding himself of the taste, and well-being flushed quickly through his system.

"Thank you, Molly," he said, and she smiled and swept out.

Snape decided today would be a day to get dressed, and sat on top of the bed linen for the rest of the morning, reading a book. There was a soft knock on his door sometime around midday.

"Enter," he said, and Miss Granger poked her head around the door. Snape felt a moment of dread, but she did not look like someone who had received news of her professor and a Weasley boy rutting against a shed.

"May I speak to you for a minute, sir?" she said politely, and he nodded. She came in and shut the door.

"It's about our plan for your resurrection and reinstatement in society," she explained briskly, sitting in the chair by his bed. "I was going to talk to you about it at the meal, but it was such a busy night and then you vanished, so I never got the chance."

"I see," said Snape tiredly. What on earth did this girl have planned, that she thought she could clear the name of a man who was best known for killing Albus Dumbledore?

"Obviously, it's not going to be easy," she said. "We're going to have to play it carefully. If anyone even gets a hint that we might have known you were alive before the press did, it would land us in a lot of trouble. We've thought about it, and we've been sharing as much of your story as we can to get people on your side, and we think that if your case were to be put before court, you would have a good chance. Harry isn't thrilled by the thought of merely 'a good chance', though, so we've been thinking up ways to sure up our bet.

"The first one was that article, of course, I hope you didn't mind –" She did not stop to see if he did, "And obviously we've been amassing people who will vouch for you, but we now have to think about the best way to bring you back from the dead. The obvious explanation would be similar to the truth, only that you pulled yourself to your house at Spinner's End – would anyone be able to disprove that?"

Snape shook his head. He'd left his house locked up _very_ tightly.

"But the question remained, when and how? Harry was all for him presenting your defence to the Ministry while you were still dead, making them give you a posthumous Order of Merlin, so that when you did resurrect yourself you'd have a guarantee. Me and Ron thought, however, that the Ministry probably wouldn't care about their own hypocrisy and happily lock you up even if they'd pardoned and rewarded you before. Not to mention, it's not a terribly good show of faith for you to appear only after news of your exoneration."

Snape considered.

"I will be locked up whichever course of action I take, unless I choose to stay dead."

"Oh, but surely you don't want to?" said Hermione.

"Why wouldn't I? When I am well, I could collect my things and find somewhere quiet on the continent, set up a small business and finally enjoy some peace and quiet."

"Oh," said Hermione quietly. "Well, yes, I can see how that would appeal. No one really thought of that. We all just assumed you'd want to stay in wizarding Britain."

Her tone of voice suggested that she could not imagine anyone wishing to leave it – no doubt for her, it was the first place she could feel truly herself, with friends and magic and subjects to excel at. It was how he had felt, at her age. Even now, with his only friendships tainted by the Dark Lord, it still tugged at his heart, begged him to stay.

"Wizarding Britain is hardly overflowing with happy associations for me, Miss Granger. I have no friends, those I once had are imprisoned and with good reason, and at the moment I am uncomfortably beholden to people I barely know and have been nothing but unpleasant to. My house in Spinner's End is not a warm and cosy one, Hogwarts will no doubt be out of bounds – not that I'm overly enamoured of teaching, anyway, you may have noticed that I don't like children – and the wizarding public are hardly going to accept me into their open arms. Why would I stay?"

Hermione looked almost tearful.

"Gosh, yes, I suppose so, sir. But you do have friends here. I know the Weasleys would all call you such, even if – you don't feel the same."

"The Weasleys are the most generous group of people I have ever known. Molly is a good woman, Arthur is far more intelligent than I ever gave him credit for, and her children all seem pleasant enough." Extremely pleasant, some of them, thought Snape, but thoughts of Potter darkened his line of thought quickly. "But I am hardly as at ease with them as you might be, Miss Granger. They are quite alien to me."

Granger nodded.

"I see. So, you don't want us to help you clear your name? I expect Harry will go on with his posthumous Order of Merlin plan, anyway, and then if you change your mind it might be easier, especially if some time has passed."

Snape considered. He hadn't truly been considering the option to stay in hiding – he'd resigned himself to the fact that a load of Weasleys and company would be jostling him back into society. But of course, they would let him go; he was expensive and awkward and prickly and it would be easier for them all. He was not offended, that they would release him so easily.

"Of course, Harry might just kill you, he's been taking this project so seriously, and Mrs Weasley would be very upset, and I think Ginny and Professor McGonagall would be sad to see you go. But – if it's really what you want –"

"It is not what I want," said Snape, unable to stop himself, and Hermione burst into a bright smile.

"Oh, good!" she said. "So, would you like to hear our idea? When you are well enough, we think the best plan is for you to go to the Ministry yourself and hand yourself in."

Snape stared.

'You're insane," he said eventually.

"It's really the best way," said Hermione, shaking her head. "You're not going to be able to avoid the trial, but you can make a theatre of it, that's all a trial is really, and it would be one hell of a grand gesture to start if off. A dramatic entrance, a speech about handing yourself in for fair trial, a big show of complete co-operation, and you will have already won half your audience before the trial even starts. And we'll try to be there on some pretext or other, in case something goes wrong, and Shacklebolt says he will make a point of being assigned to you, in case anyone who disagrees with you cares to do something stupid."

Snape could not hide his somewhat dubious expression, but he considered her plan. She was right enough, that winning this trial would be theatre, and it was not without logic – it was just sickeningly Gryffindor. And though he was no stranger to dramatic gestures, they were usually employed to make people think he was evil, not heroic.

"You've really caught in the public's imagination, you know," she said. "Anti-heroes are always popular. The Prophet has had a lot of response to that article, and almost all of it was positive – I think they'd be delighted to find you alive. And if a trial starts up they are going to be very keen to talk to people involved – we've already planned how we'll give our interviews – Harry last, to keep the press hanging, and as a sort of deciding blow. And I've been making friends at the Prophet who'll put the right spin on things. If only it had been this easy when they were printing awful things about Harry!"

Snape smirked.

"But that would hardly be as entertaining for the rest of us," he said. He sighed. "I will consider your plan."

"Excellent!" said Hermione. Then she frowned.

"Speaking of Harry..."

"As everyone seems to do, despite our well-known enmity," said Snape. Hermione ignored him.

"Do you know what's wrong with him?" she said. "He stormed off upstairs last night and he's still in bed now, but Ron doesn't think he's asleep. Did you... fight?"

"Potter has still not addressed a single word to me since my death. The closest he has come was to talk to my knees."

"Oh," said Hermione. "I don't know why he's doing that. Ah well, it must be something to do with Charlie, then. He was acting very strangely last night."

Snape allowed himself a smirk.

"I said we did not talk. I never said that I had nothing to do with it."

"Then what did you do?" she said, furious. "Was it about you dancing with Ginny?"

"I expect it might have been to start with," he said.

Granger raised her eyebrows expectantly.

He sighed, and looked her in the eye.

"I did not do anything to _him_, and anything I might have said or done last night that has caused this funk was hardly his business anyway."

"So you know what it might be?"

"Might I propose you ask Harry yourself?"

Hermione sighed heavily.

"He's always so bloody uncommunicative," she said, but looked resolved anyway.

She rose from her chair and smiled.

"Thank you for your time, sir," she said politely, and left. Snape rolled his eyes, for wont of a better reaction to all this Gryffindor insanity, and wondered who would get to Potter first – Charlie or Granger. He found that he didn't much care. Perhaps there would be some great drama and he would be kicked from their care, and then he wouldn't have to think about things like inadvertently admitting he wanted Potter's help.

Lunch arrived on a tray as usual, despite Molly's assertions that he would have to feed himself, and Snape vowed that he would brave downstairs to return the tray and tell her he would come down for tea. But first he went to the bathroom – which was when he heard Potter and Hermione on the landing. Or at least, he heard Hermione's piercing voice cry, "Harry!" and paused to hear the rest of the conversation.

"Oh, I'm glad you're up, Mrs Weasley was going to send you up some lunch. We told her you were ill – are you?"

A grunt, presumably negative.

"Then what on earth is up? You haven't fallen out with Ginny, have you?"

"No," said Potter, sounding his usual tired, sullen self. "Well, yes, but that's not the problem. In fact, I think – I think I need to talk to you about it, because it's driving me mad."

"Oh," said Granger, sounding concerned. "Is it serious?"

"No," said Potter. "Or at least... can we not talk about it in the hall?"

"Of course not. Come in here, Ginny's busy downstairs playing chess with Charlie and she won't mind if we borrow her room for a while."

The open and shut of a door, and now Snape was filled with curiosity as to what Potter would say. He could easily go back to his room and cast an eavesdropping charm on the room above... and since they were, in fact, talking about him...

After a moment of deliberation in which he attempted to pretend he had a conscience and failed, he walked briskly but quietly downstairs and cast his charm, locking his door so that no one would walk in and find him apparently listening to voices in his head.

At first there was silence from upstairs.

"Is it really that bad?" said Granger eventually in his ear.

"No. Yes. It's really stupid. But I'm just so _angry_!"

"What about?" said Granger fearfully. Silence.

"Would it help if you talked to Ron instead –"

"No! No, I don't think I should tell him just yet. I mean, it's none of my business..."

"Is this something that happened last night?"

A silence, presumably a nod.

"When you had that long talk with Ginny?"

Another silence.

"After, then, when you went storming off?"

"Yeah," said Harry softly. "Ginny said some really weird things. She was off with me all night after she danced with Snape. So I went inside to see if Snape was still up and what he'd said to her, but he wasn't in the house. Through his window I could see light at the bottom of the garden, so I figured he must have gone off to lurk or something, so I went down there again and he was round the back of the shed. With Charlie."

A pause, in which he could almost hear the embarrassment radiating from Potter and the confusion from Hermione.

"And... did you fight? Were they fighting? What next?"

"Erm, he was with Charlie. As in... _with._"

Another pause, and Snape dearly wished he could see Granger's face.

"Oh my gosh," she squeaked eventually, barely audible. "Are you sure? I mean, they weren't... fighting, or something? It must have been dark..."

Potter laughed hollowly.

"What I saw was pretty unmistakable. Weird kind of fight when they've got each other's hands down their pants."

Granger giggled, a shocked, quickly stifled noise.

"So... are you angry at Charlie?" She asked eventually. "For going with Snape? Or do you think Snape was t-taking advantage?" Another horrified sort of giggle.

"No," said Potter, and Snape was surprised. Whatever was he angry about, then? Was it plain old homophobia? "Charlie was in an ideal position to leave, but it kind of looked like he was having fun. Er, a lot of fun. And so did Snape. God, Hermione, I am never going to be able to look at either of them again!"  
_  
Not that you were looking at me anyway_, thought Snape, wondering why it was so annoying.

"Is that why you're angry?" said Hermione.

"No," said Harry. "Well, yes, but that's not it. It's Snape! I mean, what about my mother? Wasn't he supposed to love her like mad? I mean, everything he did in the war was for her, but apparently now it's over he's over her, at least enough to be doing stuff around the back of the shed with Charlie Weasley!"

Snape shook his head. Potter was distraught because he thought Snape was being somehow unfaithful? The boy was insane.

"Harry..." began Hermione softly. "Are you sure Snape did everything for your mother? I mean, obviously he cared about her very much, but surely he must have realised at some point that her death wasn't the only reason the Dark Lord was evil. I mean, he's worked so tirelessly for us all – would he really have done so much just for a woman he loved as a child?"

"I don't know," said Harry miserably. "But it's what I was basing everything I thought I knew about him on, and he's messed it all up and confused me again. Did he even love my mother? Was it a lie? Maybe he really was evil!"

"You don't believe that," said Hermione softly.

"I don't know! Certainly all my friends seem to be so close to him all of a sudden."

"Harry... no one's close to Snape, but we're beginning to like him more – or at least I am. We've all been trying really hard, because we thought that was what you wanted. For everyone to see Snape differently?"

A dry laugh.

"Yeah, but _I _keep seeing him differently. Am I ever going to figure him out?"

A pause, and a quiet hum of contemplation from Hermione.

"Snape is complicated, morally dubious, deeply uncomfortable with things like kindness and affection and at the moment, very vulnerable," she said eventually. "I think his motivations in the war were probably selfish and selfless at the same time, I think he has the capacity to be completely beastly, but I also think that if we prove we care about him, he'll not let us down. He might have started off on this path for your mother, but I think he was – Dumbledore's man, at the end."

"I – think so too," said Harry, sighing. "I just wish I could... decide how to feel about him. He's always known how to – get to me."

"I think you should talk to him. He's been nice to everyone else, he'll probably at least... try."

Another one of Potter's hollow laughs.

"I don't think he ever really hated any of you," he said. "But I'm pretty sure he hates me. Even if part of it was because he had to... I don't think anyone can fake it that well. And I'm not sure I can take it if I try and patch things up and he throws it back in my face."

"Why does it matter to you so much?" said Hermione softly, mostly curious. Severus concurred with the tone immensely.

"If I knew that, life would be a hell of a lot easier," said Harry. "I think he's just... an unresolved issue. I think maybe when his name's cleared and he's all sorted out, maybe things will be better. I feel like I owe him, and maybe I do."

"So you'll talk to him, then? I really think it will help."

"I dunno if I can, Hermione. I mean, I saw him –"

Another giggle, undisguised this time.

"Yes, well," said Hermione. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

"Of course not. Come on, Hermione, I'm sick of thinking about it. Let's go get some food."

Snape deactivated his spell and stared blankly at the door. He realised that was the longest he had heard Potter speak since his near-death. God, he _hated_ that boy, who knew so much of him, whose egotism knew no bounds and who'd invaded Snape's privacy more times than he could count. Who yet _again_ was keeping his secrets. Who looked like his father but had his mother's eyes to taunt him for his failure, and who had been the centre of all Snape's efforts for too long.

Potter was right. There was unfinished business of the highest degree. Snape had owed the boy far too long, had hated him every second of it; he'd spent too much of his life revolving around Harry bloody Potter. It was time to change.

Snape had the creeping feeling that such a change might only come about if they found some peace.

He picked up his tray and swept downstairs as gracefully as his recovering limbs could manage.

"Oh, Severus, you're up and about! Oh, you didn't have to bring the tray down, dear, I was just fixing Harry a plate of lunch and then I was coming to fetch it!"

"I thought I'd save you the journey, Molly. I might also like to come down for tea, if that is possible."

"Oh, of course! I'll send one of the kids up when it's ready. Unless you'd like to spend the afternoon downstairs? They are in the living room playing chess, I believe. Oh, Harry, you're up! There's lunch for you, dear, would you like it in the lounge?"

Snape turned for the lounge and reached the door just as Potter and Granger attempted to go through it. He gave them a nod – both of them went bright scarlet.

Snape pushed past them scornfully.

"I am the king of everything!" Ronald Weasley was crowing from their fireside chess match, while Ginny glared from opposite and George and Charlie laughed heartily. "I am the ultimate master of chess! I am unbeatable!"

"Are you quite sure about that, Mr Weasley?" said Snape, and Ron gaped for a moment before a grin spread across his face.

"That a challenge, sir?" he said.

"Indeed, said Snape, more curious than anything else, and Ginny scrambled up to allow him to sit at the board. She crossed to Charlie's side, who grinned at Severus in a relaxed way that boded well for future conversations; Snape nodded at them both and sank to the floor as gracefully as he could.

Weasley reset the scoreboard calmly, a look of concentration on his face that was quite unfamiliar to Severus, and the game began. Weasley was, in fact, rather a good chess player, which had Snape at a disadvantage initially for the crime of underestimating him; however, it did not handicap him unduly once his error was corrected, and the game began to stretch out far longer than their audience's attention span.

After nearly an hour, the entire household was sat in the lounge, half-watching, mostly chatting. George Weasley began to take bets. Snape wondered which of them would take it worse if they did not win.

"Checkmate."

The entire room stilled.

"Checkmate," repeated Weasley, disbelieving, and began to grin, a smile which faded as he looked up at Snape. The tension in the room visibly thickened.

Snape sighed.

"Well, I'm sure that proves it, Mr Weasley," he said dryly. "Clearly, you are, as you said, 'King of Everything'."

Ron laughed.

"We have got to play again some time," he said. "Nice to get someone who's actually competition."

"Oi!" said Charlie. "I taught you all you know, brat!"

"I'm still better than you," said Ron smugly. Snape rose, extremely stiff, and Ron caught his arm in a casual way to steady him. Snape brushed it off impatiently; Ron did not appear annoyed.

"Oh, here," said Charlie, rising from his seat. Snape attempted to protest – Charlie caught him by the arm and all but pushed him into the seat.

"Really, Mr Weasley, I do _not_ appreciate being manhandled."

A raised eyebrow and a half-repressed smirk from Charlie. Snape raised an eyebrow and dared him to comment.

There was a sound something like a strangled squeak from Hermione.

"Tea, anyone?" said Charlie cheerfully.

A chorus of "Brilliant!" and "Yes please!" went up.

"I will assist you," said Snape. Charlie looked as if he wanted to protest on the grounds of Snape's illness, but then he smiled and nodded.

Charlie laid out eight cups and Snape cleaned out the rather amazingly large teapot on the sideboard. Kettle boiling, They turned to each other and Charlie grinned ruefully.

"Er. So. Did you want to – talk?"

Charlie looked unsure. Snape allowed his lips to twitch up into what might have been loosely termed a smile, had he been inclined to do such things.

"Only if you feel that anything needs to be said, Mr Weasley. Rest assured, I understand what last night was – fortunate, pleasant, casual, and without future promise or expectation."

Charlie grinned and nodded, looking relieved, and any anxiety that there might be some further social obligation faded from Snape's mind.

"You can call me Charlie, you know," said Charlie, grinning.

"You may call me Severus, if you wish," he said.

"Hmm, Severus," said Charlie, voice low. "It's a good name."

Charlie cast a guilty glance at the lounge door and placed a soft kiss on Snape's lips. Severus was sorely tempted to try for more, but the Weasley kitchen was hardly the place.

"I'm going home tomorrow," said Charlie. "But next time I'm in England, feel free to call in."

Snape smiled.

"It would be a pleasure to do so."

"Right, shall we sort out this tea, then?"

At that point, Potter emerged from the lounge, attempting to avoid looking at anywhere that Snape and Charlie might feasibly be.

"Potter, this is the Weasley kitchen. I doubt you'll find anything to offend your delicate sensibilities here."

Potter found the strength to look up and glare.

"Yeah, well I thought that about the Weasley shed, too," he said, and then bit his lip guiltily when Charlie winced.

"Harry," he began, and Potter smiled at him, tense but apparently genuine.

"Sorry, Charlie, I didn't mean anything by it, and I'm sorry about, erm, last night –"

"Don't apologise, Harry, what say we forget all about it?" Charlie grinned, apparently at ease now, and offered Harry his tea. "Wanna give me a hand with these?"

"I, um, wanted to speak to Snape, actually," he said, and those defiant green eyes pierced him.

"Oh, right, of course," said Charlie, and six cups sailed into the lounge with him.

Snape looked down at the boy, and sighed.

"What is it, then, Potter?"

Harry picked up his tea and looked around the kitchen.

"Can't we talk somewhere else?"

"My room," proposed Snape, and led the way before Potter could react. He swept through the Burrow's corridors somewhat less gracefully than the Hogwarts halls, but if Potter's face was any indication, the effect was almost the same. He swept into his room and whirled, overjoyed to be in his proper robes again.

Harry shut the door and then stayed looking at the floor, like a recalcitrant first year. It would have been satisfying if it was not irritating.

In an attempt to get Potter to actually talk instead of staring into nothing, he sank down onto the edge of the bed.

"Well?" he said eventually, when nothing seemed forthcoming, and Harry finally looked up.

"I dunno where to start, really," he said.

"Pick somewhere," said Snape darkly, "Before we both die of old age."

A flash of annoyance, and it seemed that Potter was completely dysfunctional without anger to fuel him. Well, Severus was more than happy to wind him up, but if Potter wanted to settle their differences it seemed counter-productive.

"Alright," said Harry eventually. "Did you actually love my mum? Do you still love her? Because the whole doe Patronus thing seemed to imply it, but what with Charlie –"

"Ah, so in order to truly prove I loved her, I must stay faithful in every way, despite the fact that we never actually had a relationship and she has been dead for nearly two decades?"

Potter looked annoyed.

"So you do still love her?"

"You may want to consider what definition of love you are using. I loved her utterly, like the only kind person that had graced my young life, like a girl who cared for me despite my manner and my clothes and my looks and still tried to love me even while I pushed her away. I loved her like a ray of light in my miserable existence, to be coveted and protected and adored, in short, like the _sister_ I never had."

Harry stared.

"Oh," he said eventually. "Oh, I see."

He smiled distantly at the floor. Severus scowled; he had spent too long thinking of Lily to entertain Potter's reminiscence now.

"Does that cover it, Potter?" he snapped, and the boy shook his head.

"No, not at all," he said, and a note of fury crept into his voice. "I was going to ask what the hell you were playing at, dancing with Ginny, but now I realise the answer is pretty obvious. You were just being your usual horrible self."

"Not just," said Snape. "It was also for the benefit of Miss Weasley, stuck as she was with an oaf who would rather see her unhappy at the side of the dance floor all night than put up with a few minutes of shuffling uncomfortably."

"I danced with her!"

"Because I did," he said smugly, and watched with pleasure as Potter grew red enough to burst a blood vessel. Potter's anger would never cease to be entertaining.

"Yeah, you did, and you said something to her, because she was weird all night and she's being really distant and what the hell did you do?"

Snape sighed.

"She was foolish enough to ask for my opinion on your relationship. I answered honestly. If anything I said struck her as truth, that is hardly my fault."

Whatever Potter had been expecting, apparently this was not it, because he stared in confusion and growing fury. Snape sighed.

"So –" began Harry, a fearful note in his voice, and Snape raised an eyebrow. "What – exactly did you say?"

"I said I thought you were appallingly poorly suited and though you would probably throw yourself into the motions of building a family you would most likely both be deeply unsatisfied."

Harry stared.

"That's crap. We are suited, everyone says we are, and I – I love her! What would you know about it?"

"I know that you are sullen and dysfunctional and unhealthily fixated on this idea you have of a traditional family with millions of children to give you all the love you've been missing. I know Miss Weasley is headstrong and energetic and hardly wants to settle down any time soon. I know –"

"We've never talked about _soon_!"

"But most professional Quidditch players will not retire until at least forty. Are you telling me you will wait twenty years for your children?"

Potter looked appalled, and Snape felt smug.

"Let me guess," he continued. "You were thinking you would propose when she comes out of school, engaged for a year, get married, and a few years after that when it starts feeling quiet between the two of you, start spawning multiple children?"

Harry shrugged, looking anguished and angry.

"Something like that, yeah! What business is it of yours? You don't know us!"

"I know you, Potter," he said, a silky murmur. "I know you've thought sisterly thoughts about Ginevra more than sexual ones. In fact, poking round your head, there were a distinct lack of sexual thoughts relating to girls. Your wank fantasies are vague and androgynous and your feelings upon kissing one of the more beautiful girls in the school amounted mostly to embarrassment – in fact I can recall more times when you thought Diggory handsome than Chang. And you happily confuse your possessive feelings for Ginny with desire – I know all about both, Potter, and I can tell."

Potter looked wiped blank with shock. Snape smirked, and watched as a blush crept crimson over Potter's cheeks.

"Is that what you told Ginny?" He said eventually, voice strangely hoarse, and Snape, much to his surprise, realised that he really might have hit something. He had not truly been entertaining the notion that Potter was gay; it seemed unthinkable, and for all he'd not seen girls he'd also not seen any _boys_, and Lord knows the boy had reason enough to be a bit of a late bloomer in the sexuality stakes. But something in Potter's face, a faint, hunted look behind his eyes, made him wonder.

"No, Potter, I rather recalled it on the spot as a way to irritate or offend you. Not that there isn't any truth in it," said Snape reflectively. "More than I realised, if your face is anything to go by."

"I'm not gay!" said Potter finally, a little too angry and a little too late. Snape laughed, quite unintentionally.

"I assure you, I have no desire to contemplate it. Now, are we done?"

Potter glared.

"We're done," he growled, and stormed out.

Snape found himself in an unaccountably good mood all day.  



	5. Chapter 5

Of course, he should have known it would not last.

It started in the morning, when Ginevra brought him breakfast, and with bright eyes and scarlet cheeks announced that he she slept with Potter last night.

"And it was brilliant," she said, ignoring Snape's disgusted expression. "He's never been like that before, really... forceful, but it was brilliant and he's already told me he loves me loads of times and so, all in all, I think you were dead wrong."

Snape realised he did not have as much of an urge to laugh as he had initially. Potter's life was a terrible mess, and Ginny was going to learn all about it soon enough. Then again, maybe Potter had merely decided to cement his heterosexuality, not overcompensate for his lack of it.

"Hmm," he said, unable to safely say anything else. Ginny scowled, and was about to say more when Snape held up a hand.

"I am sure it is my fault for not saying this when you first began regaling me with tales of Potter, but I really do _not_ want to hear of your love life. Congratulations, you've shagged the hero of the wizarding world. Does that make you feel better?"

Ginny's face showed hurt before it hardened.

"I just thought you ought to hear you were wrong," he said, and left with a toss of her hair.

Snape went downstairs just in time to see a rather large woman land a somewhat larger dragon in the Weasley back garden.

"That's my lift," said Charlie, coming up behind him as he stared out of the lounge window in shock. "The others are all outside to see me off. Going to see me off too?"

Charlie smirked at him, so Snape caught him by the robe and pulled him into a suitable going-away kiss.

"I have got the worst timing in the world," said Potter behind them, and they turned to see him stood in the doorway, looking mildly appalled. Hermione stood behind him, trying rather unsubtly to block someone else's entry into the room.

"What's the hold-up?" Ron protested, and Snape moved a respectable distance away just as his head appeared above the other two in the doorway.

"I believe I startled Potter," said Snape, repressing his smirk. "Do come in."

He noticed that Potter looked miserable; a somewhat stark contrast to Ginny's glow.

"Oh, we were just going to tell Charlie his lift has arrived," said Hermione.

"I saw," said Charlie wryly, glancing out the window at a view composed entirely of green scales. "You're all coming out to wave me off, I assume?"

He gave Severus a faintly apologetic smile.

"Of course," said Snape, and Granger looked a little soft. Good lord, were all Gryffindors such hopeless romantics?

"Come on," said Ron, with the air of one who knew he was missing something but also knew it probably wasn't worth the hassle to ask.

They all trooped out, Snape telling himself that keeping a hand on his wand was only prudent; thankfully, he was not the only one to look a little edgy. The dragon did not so much fill the garden as consume it entirely, but Charlie climbed up onto it with ease.

Snape was only a little impressed.

But then Charlie grinned and patted it, and the dragon unfurled its leathery wings and blotted out the sun. Snape's wand hand clenched as Charlie caught the reins, waving madly, but the great Welsh Green soared up into the sky and vanished under a disillusionment charm, Charlie Weasley still waving atop it.

Molly sniffed into a handkerchief, and suddenly everyone looked a little down. George looked desolate, and Snape remembered that Charlie had been taking the role of substitute joker, jollying everyone along and attempting to keep George upbeat.

Snape decided that perhaps he would spend the day in bed after all. He had never been one to bring cheer to a bleak atmosphere, and this sadness was a family concern.

He removed himself for the afternoon.

Potter brought his supper at six, much to Snape's astonishment. He didn't appear to have cheered up. He laid out the tray, then sat on the chair rather than leaving immediately.

He had the air of one at a confessional. Merlin, surely the boy was not about to come out to _him?_

"I slept with Ginny last night," he said eventually, and looked up to see Snape's reaction.

"Is this revenge?" he said mildly, and bit a forkful of pie.

"What?" said Harry, then grinned weakly. "Oh, right for... No. It's just..." Potter trailed off.

"It's just... that you did it for terrible reasons and now everything is a mess and it's all my fault?" said Snape. "I don't know what you're expecting me to say, Potter. My overwhelming temptation is to laugh."

Potter scowled.

"You're right. Dunno why I ever thought you could be _nice_. Not to me."

He rose from his chair; Snape let him get as far as the door before he gave in.

"Potter," he snapped, and Potter turned to glare.

"Did you actually want to volunteer something other than that fascinating information about your sex life?"

Potter shrugged.

"I dunno. It doesn't matter much."

Snape sighed.

"It's just..." said Potter again, and stopped again. Snape schooled his patience.

"I've done stuff with her before," he said, defiant. "I've never had a problem."

"Did it not go well, Potter? It's hardly unusual for a first time –"

"It went fine," snapped Potter, sitting on the chair with a flump. "She seems delighted. But..."

"But?"

Snape had to confess that curiosity was beginning to get the better of him.

"Every time I closed my eyes, it wasn't _her._"

Snape couldn't help it; he snorted in amusement. Potter leapt up as if to leave, and Snape caught him by the wrist.

"Potter," he said, sighing. "I did not mean to laugh. It's not an unfamiliar story to me, and it caused me much the same distress."

Potter stared blankly, something like despair creeping over his face.

"I – I need to go," he said, and dashed out of the room.

Severus did not envy his position.

  


*  


  


For the next week or so, he barely saw Potter (who had a tendency to hide in corners or leave rooms he entered), Ginny was pointedly not talking to him, as though it were a punishment, and his day consisted primarily of Ronald and his accompanying chess set. The scores were currently even.

It was quite evident that Ronald was only keeping him company because he was pining for something, which puzzled him until he realised Granger probably had her own family and was not in the house half as much as he'd presumed. This was only proved on Saturday evening, when Granger stayed after dinner, presumably all night – he saw hide nor hair of the boy until Sunday lunchtime, where the lovestruck pair glowed over their roast potatoes.

Not so with Potter and Ginevra. Potter, for his part, seemed to be going through the motions of attentiveness; he held her hand under the table and angled his head when she spoke. But Ginny was no fool, and the distant look in his eyes was unmistakable.

Eventually, Snape saw her pull away, and begin chatting with false brightness to George. George, he was strangely pleased to note, seemed to be faring well considering he was having to find his identity as a solo artist rather than a double act. His humour seemed rather blacker nowadays, but Snape considered that an improvement.

Potter's humour, he was beginning to notice, was also rather dark and dry. It seemed to irritate Ginny.

"Harry still doesn't look happy, does he?" murmured Molly in his ear as they began their dessert.

"No, not terribly," said Severus, sighing. Why did everyone look to him to solve their Potter problems?

"I don't suppose you know what's wrong? Ron and Ginny said he's been acting strangely ever since he had a talk with you, but he's so erratic nowadays –"

"Nowadays?" said Snape. "He's had a screw loose his whole life. His tantrums are infamous, and I understand he regularly shuts out those closest to him."

Molly smiled, for some reason.

"Yes, quite infamous," she said. "So you don't know what's wrong?"

Snape considered carefully.

"What is wrong," he began slowly, "Seems to be related to his relationship with your daughter. Perhaps someone ought to talk to him? Someone male, someone older, perhaps?"

Molly raised her eyebrows.

"Goodness, I never thought of that. Do you think he is... having problems?"

Severus was not entirely sure what Molly meant, and did not care to know.

"I think he's suffering from a lack of male guidance," he said. "With Black and Lupin gone, who has he to talk to? Particularly since all the older men he knows are related to his current girlfriend."

Molly contemplated this.

"Well... I don't know anyone he could really talk to," she said. "You don't think you..."

Snape snorted.

"I hardly think we are at the manly bonding stage. Our conversation still tends to descend into madness."

Molly hummed.

"If there is no non-Weasley available, a Weasley will have to do," said Snape. "Perhaps Bill." Especially since Bill seemed undisturbed by Charlie's preferences.

"I"ll ask," said Molly, looking much more content, and Snape realised he was becoming a bigger meddler than Dumbledore – all that was missing was a grand plan. Other than 'Sort out Harry Potter so that he might worry about his own life for a change', of course.

Molly on a mission was an efficient machine indeed: Bill was around the next afternoon, for dinner and to play chess, beating Potter but losing inevitably to Ron. Snape refrained from another hours-long match against him, catching the look on Molly's face – a few minutes later she roped Ginny, Ron and George into laying out tea and cakes, leaving Potter, Bill, Arthur and Severus sat awkwardly in the lounge.

"I hate chess," said Bill cheerfully.

"Me too," said Harry, with a small grin.

"Got any exploding snap cards?"

Potter shrugged.

"In Ron's room, I think so."

"Come on, let's bring them down," said Bill, clapping a hand on Potter's shoulder. Potter, not a complete idiot, looked confused and a little suspicious as he was led out of the room.

Suddenly, Severus found himself filled with the almost irresistible temptation to eavesdrop. He stared after Potter, speculating.

When he turned back to Arthur, he was eying him shrewdly, but Molly came into the room again before he could say a word.

She frowned at Severus.

"Are you alright, dear? You look tense."

Snape was about to snap that he was always tense, but then it wasn't as true as it used to be, and besides, it gave him the perfect excuse to go upstairs and surrender to his spying instincts.

"A headache," he said, and Arthur gave him a sharp look as Snape was shooed up to bed with tea in hand.

He locked his door and cast his charm up at Potter's room with only the briefest twinge of guilt.

"I'm sure they're here somewhere," said Potter in his ear, accompanied by a clatter of things being moved, or possibly thrown about. Snape slid onto the bed and closed his eyes.

"It's a bit of a mess up here," said Potter apologetically.

"I'm not surprised," said Bill with a laugh. "Two teenage boys in one room? Recipe for a bombsite. Do you sleep up here all the time?"

"Nah, only when you or Charlie are staying in the spare room," he said. "I really need to find somewhere else to live soon."

"Don't be silly," reassured Bill. "You need somewhere to get on your feet first, decide what you want to do now, and Mum loves having a full house. I suppose she wouldn't dream of putting Ron with Hermione?"

"She stays with Ginny," said Potter, an embarrassed edge to his voice. "Don't think it stops them, though."

Bill laughed again.

"How are you and Ginny?" he asked casually. Potter's silence did not surprise Snape.

"Problems?" said Bill after a moment. "Anything I can help with?"

"I really doubt it," said Potter with a dark laugh.

"Hey, Harry," said Bill softly, and Snape could well imagine the comforting hand on Potter's shoulder. Snape wasn't sure that would help, knowing Bill's universal appeal. "You know you can always come to me for advice, yeah? I've got a few years' experience under my belt, and I doubt you could say anything that would shock me."

Harry snorted.

"What, even if I, I dunno... told you I fancy hippogriffs?"

Bill laughed.

"I think I'd redirect you to Hagrid for that one," he said.

"Urgh," said Harry. Then he fell silent.

"What about fancying men," he said. The merest of pauses, until Bill said smoothly:

"Not really in the same class as a hippogriff fetish," he said. "Is that one true?"

A noncommittal noise from Potter, then:

"I don't _know_," he said, still bleak. "I mean, I've had crushes on girls, like Cho, but thought I was too young really to be thinking about sex with her or anything –"

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen."

"Definitely old enough to be _thinking_ about it," said Bill wryly.

"But I've not really had girls on my mind all the time like Ron seemed to, and Fleur – well, she gets me when she does that, er,Veela swoopy thing, but not half as bad as Ron..."

"I'd noticed," said Bill, amused.

"And I've had so much to think about these past few years, what with Voldemort and all, I've just tried not to think about – sex. At all. Even with Ginny, she's been the one to –"

"Yes, yes," said Bill quickly. "I've heard some scandalous rumours about my sister, but I'd rather not have them confirmed."

Harry laughed mirthlessly.

"Yeah, okay, so... I dunno. I'm _really_ confused. And terrified."

Bill was silent for a moment.

"Do you have any reason why you think you might be into men, rather than just a late bloomer? Do you think about men?"

A pause.

"I've been trying not to think about it," he said eventually, and Bill snorted.

"Well, that's no good," he said. "Everyone at some point or other _thinks_ about it, even if it's just for curiosity's sake. Even I've snogged a boy or two."

"You have?" squeaked Potter, and Snape wondered if the same sorts of thoughts about attractive redheads in embraces with pretty schoolboys were filling Potter's mind as well.

"Yeah," said Bill, laughing. "I think the Gryffindor common room has got a lot tamer over the years, because we used to play spin the bottle back in our day. There was sort of a stupid unwritten rule about same-sex stuff – the girls usually did it but the guys almost always bowed out. But Charlie had just come out to me and as a show of solidarity I leapt up and snogged this poor boy Alex. Avoided me for months, of course, and there were all sorts of rumours, but I think Charlie was pleased."  


  


  
Harry laughed.

"Doesn't really count if it's a game," he said.

"I said a boy or _two_," said Bill, and Snape could imagine the charmingly enigmatic smile on his face. "Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, it's perfectly natural to think about guys, have crushes on guys, even experiment with guys. It doesn't mean you fancy guys, and even if you do you might still fancy girls as well, and if you don't nobody will care. Some strange attitudes have filtered through from the muggleborn, but in wizarding society it's pretty much accepted. Loads of purebloods used to fool around with men before they got married and produced heirs. Some of them kept their flings around while they were married, even. It's more frowned upon to take it up as a way of life, because of the whole keeping Wizarding numbers up and all that, but that only really matters to the older purebloods. Mum's a bit funny on it too, the Prewetts were a very traditional pureblood family – dreadful muggle-loving blood traitors of course, but very much into family values. She tends to dismiss it as a phase, something you do before settling down and giving her lots of grandchildren, but I wouldn't pay much attention to her."

"I didn't know any of that," said Harry quietly. "Do purebloods really do all that?"

"All the time," said Bill. "Not discussed in polite conversation, mind."

"So do you reckon... Lucius Malfoy...?"

Potter sounded morbidly amused. Bill laughed.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he said. "Bet Snape would know. You should ask."

Snape was appalled. Absolutely nothing on this earth could persuade him to talk about Malfoy's extra-marital activities.

Potter laughed, sounding much more cheerful.

"But Harry," said Bill, more seriously. "There is one thing you really need to do before you think about anything else."

A pause.

"Break up with Ginny."

"What?" said Potter, sounding appalled, though it seemed blindingly obvious advice to Snape.

"If you're having a sexual crisis, you can _not_ have her to experiment on. What if you give her all your attention and make advances you wouldn't normally make, and then tell her at the end of it that actually, you're gay? She's going to be really hurt. You need a break."

_A bit late for this speech_, thought Snape. Couldn't be helped, though.

"Tell her you need to think about your future and what you want from life," continued Bill. "And you _do_ need to think about it. You've not had time in the past, but now you've got all the time in the world. Are you even sure you want to throw yourself into such a serious relationship so young? And remember, the Weasleys will always love you."

"I – you're right," agreed Potter, sounding both comforted and traumatised. "Thanks, Bill."

"Hey, no problem," said Bill, sounding pleased with himself. "Feel free to owl if you want to talk about anything. Or send an owl to Charlie, I'm sure he'd be a help. Hey, knowing him I bet he'd be happy to participate in a bit of experimenting if you like," he added with a laugh.

Potter snorted.

"Charlie wouldn't want me," he said, sounding throwaway and quite genuine. An incredulous pause from Bill, mimicked two floors down in Snape.

"Why not?" said Bill, surprised.

"Well, he's... really hot," said Harry.

"You're not so bad yourself, Harry Potter," said Bill disapprovingly. "He's definitely not out of your league, if that's what you think."

Harry snorted, embarrassed.

"I dunno," he said.

"Well, I'd say you're a bit more conventionally appealing than Snape," said Bill.

A pause.

"Well... he's older," said Harry. "Kind of powerful. A lot more attractive when he's – erm –"

"Not glaring?" said Bill with a laugh.

"Erm," said Harry again, obviously derailed by the memory, and Snape felt a little as though his own brain was derailed, too.

"Snape aside, Harry, _you're_ very attractive. You've got amazing eyes and good features and a good bone structure and a good arse, and Charlie would be mad to refuse an opportunity to get off with you in the name of curiosity."

"I didn't know you knew about Charlie and Snape," said Harry after a while, sounding choked and embarrassed and obviously changing the subject.

"Charlie's not overly subtle about that sort of thing," said Bill with a laugh, "And I saw you come up from the garden. Of course, I knew he fancied Snape in school, so I had a clue anyway. Don't tell him I told you any of this, by the way."

"He fancied Snape in _school_?" said Potter, and Snape wondered at the emphasis on 'school' rather than 'fancied'.

"I can see what might appeal," said Bill neutrally. "It's like you said – the power thing. He's got that air of assurance, and that voice, that whole dominating aura... I can imagine it translating well to a bedroom situation. If you like that sort of thing."

"Er," said Potter, uninterpretably, and Bill laughed.

"Come on, lets get those snap cards before they send out a search party."

Snape shut off his spell and closed his eyes. His thoughts were whirling down strange and uncomfortable avenues. Thoughts of Bill and his one or two boys; the memory of Charlie, interspersed with visions of the man _experimenting _with Potter; the surreality of hearing that he'd been a student's crush, that Bill _understood_ it, that Potter almost implied that _Snape_ was out of _his_ league; Potter, _almost_ saying that Severus was much more attractive when he was coming.

Snape realised he may have released something in his psyche he did not want to think about. But he was, most decidedly, thinking about Potter in a context that just a few weeks ago would have appalled him.

He closed his eyes, and Potter was there to meet him, a thousand furious screaming matches turned to a different kind of passion. That defiant glare, turning to confusion to shock to reluctant pleasure, and just the very _wrongness _of it seemed to enhance the appeal. He was appalled at his own reaction.

When that reaction refused to leave him alone, Snape came to thoughts of Potter begging to be defiled, and vowed afterwards to never think of it again.

  


*  


  


  
Of course, people had pulled him too far into Potter's life for him to cease thinking about the boy, and Severus was all too aware of his own compliance. Ginevra came to him a few days later, looking as though there had been tears recently, and with careful calm told him that she broke up with Potter.

"I see," said Snape. Ginny looked at him suspiciously, waiting for more, but Snape was guilty enough from his improper thoughts of Potter to hold his tongue.

"I couldn't get what you said out of my head," she continued, "And I was sick of him being distant. We talked for a bit about we wanted, but he kept saying 'I don't know' and it was driving me mad, so I thought maybe I could scare him into being less _apathetic _by suggesting we break up_._ But he just agreed! He said maybe we weren't right and maybe we should both do some thinking about our future, and maybe we should take a break. He just _agreed!_ Does he even love me?"

Snape snorted.

"Of course he does. It may not be in the way you'd like, though."

"What do you mean?" she said, appalled, and Snape shrugged.

"He cares for you greatly, I'm sure, but perhaps that love does not work terribly well in a romantic situation."

Ginny looked disturbed.

"That might be worse," she said eventually. "If he ever tells me he loves me like a sister, I'll hex his balls off."

Snape crossed his fingers for that very likely eventuality.

"Don't worry about Potter," he said. "Spend some time with your friends. Have some fun. Potter will sort himself out eventually."

"Good idea," said Ginny, grinning. "I could do with a girly night. And I haven't seen Dean in a while."

Snape snorted inwardly. Calling on an ex already? Ginny Weasley was about as suited to long-term commitment as her dragon-taming brother.

"Indeed," he said dryly, reminding her he had no interest in her social plans, and she smiled ruefully and left the room with renewed cheer.

Severus was appalled by his restraint. Good Lord, he really was turning into Dumbledore!

Hermione appeared before lunch, smiling cheerfully with a notebook in hand.

"Hello, Professor!" she said.

"I'm not a professor," snapped Snape.

"Um, Mr Snape?"

"That was my father," he said, pulling a face. He hesitated. "Severus will do."

Hermione smiled nervously.

"Okay, um... I just popped in to see if you've decided what you want to do yet."

Snape sighed. He thought he had been avoiding thinking about it, but the answer sprang to mind fully formed.

It seemed inevitable. He could not bring himself to leave.

"Your plan seems acceptable," he said tiredly, and Hermione beamed.

"Oh, good! Well, Shacklebolt wants to be around whenever you appear, just to contain any possible rioting or stray curses. He's good for mornings around eight-thirty, so any time around then would be perfect. It'll be busy in the Atrium around then, but maximum coverage, eh?"

Snape sighed but nodded.

"Shacklebolt will release a statement to the press regarding your arrest immediately, and as soon as the first story hits a couple of us will agree to an interview. We'll ask for Moira Cocklebottom, the woman who wrote your first article – I think she's got a bit of a thing for your story, and what with me becoming best friends with her –" here Granger allowed herself a small grimace, and Snape was appalled at how callous Gryffindors could be when they turned to more Slytherin pursuits, "– It will be perfectly natural for us to go to her first. Sorry about the whole romantic thing, we'll try and play it down a bit."

"We've also got a list of people who have promised they will testify if we ask, Harry even went and asked Draco Malfoy – Malfoy owed him though, spoke at his hearing and had all charges dropped – did you have someone you wanted as your defence, by the way? Mr Weasley knows a man, but if you have your own defence that's great – and I've made a list of possible evidence to bring up. There's obviously your memories of events – are you alright for them to be shown?"

"Some of them," said Snape, resigned.

"And there's the Phoenix feather that was next to your body, which will appeal to anyone with romantic notions about second chances and loyalty, and you can talk under Veritaserum although that's always risky. Harry, of course, is going to be a key witness, and a key figure to the press. Hopefully, if we get the public on your side, it will influence the Wizengamot, and if the worst comes to the worst they may be more lenient to avoid public backlash. Which there would be, believe me."

Hermione sounded fierce and determined, reminding him strongly of Minerva, of her passionate defense of her students over the past year. He'd often heard people wondering why Granger was in Gryffindor – it had always been quite clear to Severus. She may be clever, but first of all she was just, and she'd fight for that ideal.

"Very well," he said, and Granger looked surprised, as if she'd expected a fight.

"Oh, good. Um, just say the word and we'll get into place. Do you know what you're going to say?"

Snape smirked.

"I shouldn't worry about that, Miss Granger. I'm rather well-known for my dramatic entrances. And exits, for that matter."

Hermione grinned, though she looked a little nervous.

"Okay, Pr– Severus." She smiled awkwardly. "How are you feeling, by the way?"

"Much better," said Snape patiently. "How are you?"

"Oh," said Hermione, "Pretty good. My parents – well, they're ill at the moment, but much better this week. Have you heard about Harry and Ginny?"

"Oh yes, far too much," said Snape darkly.

"Oh," said Hermione, laughing. "I thought Ginny wasn't talking to you."

"So did I, but apparently she has changed her mind. Monday, Miss Granger. Is that acceptable?"

"What? Oh! Okay, if you think you're ready... of course. Oh, everyone will be so relieved."

Snape snorted.

"The worst may still happen. I, for one, think I have taken leave of my senses."

"Alright," said Hermione, ignoring him. "I'd better owl Kingsley right away. It's been good to see you, sir."

Hermione rose, but paused, uncomfortable.

"I don't suppose you know what's up with Harry, do you? I mean, this Ginny thing came right out of the blue, but he's been insular for ages and I'm not sure it's just grief any more."

"Will no one ever go to him directly? Why does everyone imagine me to be the font of knowledge on all things Potter?"

"Because we know you keep an eye on him," said Hermione, smiling slightly. "And we've got no-one else to ask."

"Potter is probably having a life crisis," said Snape, sighing. "It's nothing to worry about. I'm sure he will snap out of it eventually."

Hermione nodded and went to the door.

"Granger?"

"Hermione," she corrected, turning to look at him.

"Will Weasley be playing chess this evening?"

"No," said Hermione, blushing. "No, I expect not. I can send him up if you –"

"Certainly not," said Snape. "I simply like to know if I am going to be harassed."

Hermione smiled.

"Of course, sir."

She shut the door, softly.

Snape closed his eyes, and for the first time since his death allowed himself to think of the future as though he had some place within it.

  



	6. Chapter 6

Monday came around too fast, but Snape would not be called a coward. He woke promptly at six, refused the meal Molly offered him, and apparated to the front of his house at Spinner's End. He inspected the security carefully; the spells had not been broken.

He knew the first thing that the Aurors would do is search the house, so he spent from six-thirty until eight hiding or securing as many illegal items as he could and laying out subtle suggestions that he had been living there for the past few weeks. He changed into some older clothes, with better security and more natural flow, and at precisely eight-thirty apparated into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

People reacted much how Snape had predicted; at first, no-one noticed, but as he began his quick, swooping steps towards the reception desk, people began to double-take. There was no outrage, no riot; instead, people turned to watch Snape pass like flowers following the sun. A hush fell over the atrium, so distinctly that even the bored-looking receptionist looked up to see what the fuss was about. Snape swept down upon her, expression steely, and for a moment he revelled in her look of recognition-turned-fear.

Then he placed his hands before him on the desk, and declared:

"My name is Severus Snape, and I am here to be given fair trial before the Wizengamot."

The noise in the room exploded. Insantly, Kingsley was at his side, a hand on his shoulder; restraining to the audience but reassuring to Snape.

"I think," said Kingsley, and he too had a voice that carried well, "That you had better follow me, Sir."

Snape inclined his head gracefully.

"Dawlish, Derwent," said Kingsley, waving two Aurors in the crowd. "If you would follow me."

The crowd began to protest.

"Is that Snape?"

"Isn't he dead?"

"Where are you taking him?"

"He's a Death Eater!"

"He was a hero!"

"He's supposed to be dead!"

Kingsley paused, turned to the crowd..

"Please stay calm. We will question Mr Snape immediately. I will talk to you all when we have a clear explanation. Excuse me."

Kingsley cut through the crowd, Snape following with surprising calm. 

The Law Enforcement Department had changed somewhat since his last visit; it was white and clean, now, and he was led not to a dungeon cell but to a cold interview room.

The people had changed somewhat, too; gone were the tired, fearful Aurors, keen to get a result and keen to exact their revenge, and instead there was Gawain Robards, gnarled and undeniably a war-time Auror but taking his cues from Kingsley's cool professionalism. Robards spelled him to the chair, and led Kingsley out of the room in silence.

A brief period in the company of two nervous Aurors at least fifteen years his junior and definitely ex-students, and then Kingsley returned with another Auror and explained that they had been put in charge of his case. They spent three hours taking a clear and detailed statement of what was essentially the whole of Snape's adult life, which, while tiring in many more ways than mere physical effort, was nothing to the brutal interrogation he had been given nineteen years ago. He was even offered tea, and confessed to surprise when it was not laced with veritaserum or worse.

"That is hardly good practice," said Kingsley disapprovingly, although his partner was grinding his teeth as though he'd wanted to. "We would, of course, like to question you with veritaserum, but we can save that for another time. Unfortunately, you will have to stay here for the night, Mr Snape. We will show you to a cell."

"Shouldn't he be high-security? You know, the dungeons?"

Kingsley looked at Snape and shook his head.

"Mr Snape has co-operated entirely. He came to us, Mr Hunter, he must have known the likely procedure, presumably he will not attempt an escape now. I see no reason to chain him down. If it puts you at ease, Martin, an extra guard would not be too taxing on our resources."

Martin Hunter pulled a face but acquiesced, and so it came to be that for the first time in nearly twenty years, Severus Snape slept in a Ministry cell.

Comfortable and clean though it was, he did not sleep well.   


*  


  
The next few days were a monotony of statements and evidence-giving. A date was set for his trial, alarmingly soon, and he was introduced to his defense; a quite terrifying young man who seemed to know a frightening amount about Snape's life and who impressed Snape, he reluctantly admitted, with his calm and cutting words in the face of Snape's often not-so-calm diatribes.

He was kept company every day during visiting hour – another thing that was different from last time – first of all by a delegation of Weasleys, namely Molly, Bill and Ginny (who all struggled to look as if they had not spent the past few weeks caring for him), then Ron and Hermione with a detailed discussion of Kingsley's Wonderful Press Conference and their interactions with Miss Moira Cocklebottom, who apparently rather desperately wished to have an interview with Snape himself and had been forcibly removed from the Ministry whilst trying to sneak into the cell blocks. On the third day, Minerva came and they spoke quietly of Hogwarts, and those few good years when Potter was still with the muggles and all there'd been to worry about was childish competition and who won the bet on the Quidditch cup.

The fourth day, Potter came, alone. He sat for a good ten minutes of the allotted hour in silence, staring at his hands.

"Potter," said Snape tiredly, bored of Potter's squirming, and the boy finally looked up. Surprise flashed over Potter's eyes.

"You look dreadful," he said.

"You sound surprised," said Snape. "I've been dead for a month."

Potter grinned.

"So you have," he agreed.

Another long pause.

"Was there anything you wanted to say?" said Snape, raising an eyebrow.

"Er..." said Potter, ever eloquent. "Er, yes. A lot. I'm not sure why none of it has been said... before."

"Well, providing it will not take longer than forty-five minutes, you have my ear, Potter."

"Right," said Harry. "Well, the first thing is – thank you. For what you did in the war. I know you didn't do it for me, but I'd never have been able to beat him if you hadn't..."

"You are right, Potter, I did not do it for you," said Snape. "Don't thank me."

Potter nodded, surprising Snape with his lack of reaction.

"Er, right. Um, I also wanted to say... I'm sorry. For... well, a lot of stuff, including being really useless when you were dying in front of me."

Snape snorted. There was a strange knot in his throat. For so many years, he'd hated this boy, hated him for a multitude of reasons, very few of which were valid. For so much of that time, he'd wished for a day like this, when Potter would come humbly to him, to acknowledge Snape's years of misery and suffering, the trials he had gone through. He'd imagined it would be the closest he would ever get to James acknowledging what he had done to Snape.

But he'd lost that feeling, some time between the day he learnt the Dark Lord was back and the day Dumbledore had begged him to fulfil the Vow. Everything vanished; his desire for acclaim, for that Order of Merlin, his love for petty vengeance. He'd lost hope, there was nothing left, the Dark Lord would win or Snape would die trying to stop him, and all those years he'd told himself he was doing it just for Lily vanished into pure truth.

Dying for Lily was no longer what he wanted, and that it changed nothing. He would fight, and he would die, and it would be for no-one at all.

"Potter..." he began. Harry was blushing but his jaw was set, and though Potter was not at all adept in situations that did not involve direct action he was still stubborn and brave when it came to it.

Considering Snape had the strong urge to run away at this point rather than say a simple 'apology accepted', he was not sure whether he admired it or hated it.

"We..." he began again, and Potter was beginning to look quizzical.

"We are complicated," he completed eventually, and Potter grinned.

"I'll say," he agreed. "But – I don't think we have to be. I mean, I don't want to be. I thought maybe, maybe we could just..."

"Be friends?" he said, and his mistrust for the concept must have shown through because Potter looked angry and hurt.

"Yes! Is that so horrible? God, I must be insane, can't you ever be nice?"

"No, which is why I think you may be correct about your mental health," said Snape calmly, and Potter took a deep breath in to fuel his anger. Snape surrendered to instinct, and cut him off.

"I did not mean to suggest I was unwilling, Potter. I have long been aware that my motivations for hating you have been dubious, but I have not had cause or desire to change the status quo. Now it has changed regardless, in a ridiculously dramatic manner involving a giant snake and the entire Weasley clan conspiring to drag me into your life, and I am tired of fighting the crowd. I  _surrender_ . Consider me a member of the Harry Potter Fan Club."

Potter looked shocked. Then he looked appalled.

"Don't joke about the fan club," he said darkly. Then he smiled, the bright, free smile that Snape realised might be the source of Potter's charm, previously a mystery to Snape.

"So, we're okay?" he said.

"Yes," said Snape dryly. "I suppose I can learn to tolerate you."

"You'll have to," said Potter, "Because we still have half an hour."

Snape snorted.

"I might need longer than that," he said, but he was uncomfortably aware how much his heart was not in it. Potter seemed to sense it too.

"Look," he said, all earnestness now, shuffling in. "There was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

"If it is about sex in any way, Potter, and I know it will be, please find someone else."   
_  
Because I am very afraid that you will fuel some dangerous and perverted fantasies_ , Snape mentally tacked on.

Harry grinned, but there was an unhappy tinge to it.

"I was just going to tell you that I think you were right. Dead on, in fact. Minus the Cedric bit. I mean, he was pretty, but..."

Potter went scarlet. Snape snorted.

"He was indeed  _pretty_ . For a student," he said. "And a Hufflepuff."

"Wasn't Charlie your student? A  _Gryffindor_ student, even."

Potter's smile became cheeky. Snape growled.

"Potter, just because you keep offering up unwanted information on your sex life does not mean you get to comment on mine."

Harry grinned, unabashed.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't think it was such a touchy subject."

"It isn't," snapped Snape. "Nor is it any of your business."

"So are you... seeing Charlie?" continued Potter, blatantly ignoring.

"Of course not," sighed Snape, after a short pause to decide whether it was worth ruining all hope of freedom in order to reach out and strangle the Chosen One. "Charlie does not strike me as the type to see people in any serious sense, and I hardly think we have anything in common. Did you imagine we were?"

"Well... I was having trouble imagining. That's why I asked."

Snape ignored the charming half-grin in favour of rolling his eyes.

"I'm not weirded out by it, though," said Potter thoughtfully. "Not any more. You looked –"

"Potter, I can quite comfortably say that I  _am_ 'weirded out', so I propose you put the memory out of your mind before I forcibly remove it."

Harry grinned.

"Easier said than done. I'm going to go now. Good luck."

A cheeky smile, and Potter left with a cocky air Snape would have happily ruined with a tripping charm or worse had he had his wand.

Snape told himself that he was glad Potter was leaving, and that he wasn't watching his arse as he left.

  


*  


  
The trial was just that. Snape had thought he'd planned how he would react to every eventuality; in practice, he reacted much the same as one would expect, with one's crimes spread out in vivid colour for all to see.

Adam, his defense, was good – tricksy, rarely caught out, very good at pursuing a point. Slytherin through and through, and Snape thought he might know why the man was defending him. To be a Slytherin on the side of light was to be mistrusted at every turn, and to find another brave enough to stick to their principles as well as their ambition was rare; this made Snape and he practically kin.

The most peaceful aspect of the trial was listening to the testimony of the countless people one or other side brought in to talk of him. Snape was glad he'd had no illusions about his popularity, for the bile offered in his direction was extensive, even from those testifying in his favour – only Minerva, Kingsley, Ron and Hermione offered a kind assessment.

On the last day, Potter was called to the stand. He looked quite calm, with a self-assurance Snape had not seen much of at the Burrow, and he addressed the Wizengamot rather than the defence. His voice was deeper and more pleasant than Snape recalled, too, and he had the air of someone quietly powerful. Adam had only to ask one open-ended question and stand back as Potter wielded his impressive influence with impressive grace.

The end of his speech was met with a round of applause from the audience, and Snape dared himself to hope a little. The chair of the Wizengamot called for order.

"On that note," the old man wheezed squeakily, smoothing his white beard back, "Court will go into recess while we consider our verdict. Dismissed!"

Snape was led to the cells adjacent to the court among a clatter of excitement. He'd not been sleeping, but tonight, he'd rather have oblivion than consider the next day.

*  


The courtroom was very full today, the galleries packed to the brim with murmuring spectators. Snape saw, with a strange feeling of warmth, a long line of redheads in the front row, capped at the end by a messy black head and Granger's wild mop. He also noticed, with a distinct feeling of shock, a line of middle-aged witches with a banner stretched between them:  _Free Severus Snape!_

He wondered for a moment if he were dreaming, but the way the women giggled and waved at his appearance made it more like a rather bizarre nightmare.

Then he looked up at the Wizengamot, and the nightmare became more traditional. The Chair rose, and the background noise made a sharp upswing before quietening completely. It seemed everyone was holding their breath; certainly Snape was holding his.

"Severus Snape, in light of the evidence we have been presented with, the Wizengamot has no choice but to charge you guilty of the manslaughter of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, as well as several counts of Unforgivable use and Dark curses."

Snape slumped back into his chair. The crowd exploded, and it gave Snape absolutely no comfort to note that the primary sound seemed to be dismay. He thought the women in the back row might be crying.

"ORDER!" bellowed the Chair, shocking everyone into instant silence. "Now, we would have been quite happy to find you not guilty on the basis of the work you did in the war, but the fact is, under wizarding law, even euthanasia is illegal, and the Unforgivables are, technically, unforgivable. However, it seems very obvious that not only are you filled with remorse for your actions, you were also working under the very best of motivations. Therefore, the Wizengamot has decided to give you a conditional discharge and our strongest thanks."

The silence broke again, more ambiguous this time, and Snape was quite sure his heart had stopped. He stood, and asked,

"What are the conditions?"

The chair heard him.

"That you consent to low-level magical surveillance for an indefinite period, and that we never find you in association with the dark again, on pain of instant imprisonment. Basically, Mr Snape, we never want to see you here again."

The old man smiled, and Snape allowed himself to smile back.

"Thank you, Sir," he said, bowing his head, and with no-one to stop him, he walked out of the court.

*  


After a mere half an hour in hiding at Spinner's End, the Weasley clan caught up with him, led by, of all people, Draco Malfoy.

"Hello, Sir," he said, stood on his doorstep with resentment clear on his face. "They wouldn't let me come on my own. I just wanted to say congratulations."

"As did we!" screeched Molly, hands on hips. "What were you playing at, running off like that?"

"Mum," said Bill, and Snape realised with surprise that Charlie was stood just behind him, grinning. "He's had a bit of an ordeal, maybe he wants some peace and quiet?"

"He can have plenty of that after his celebratory dinner!" said Molly.

"Oh, Merlin save me," said Snape, rolling his eyes, but he was not unhappy, and half an hour alone with nothing but the book-filled walls and a scotch had not been quite as comforting as he had anticipated. "You might as well come in."

He stepped back, and Draco Malfoy slid past him, looking deeply unsettled. The rest of the Weasleys followed, shaking his hand, and Granger actually threw her arms around him.

"Sorry it wasn't a better verdict," she almost-sobbed, and Snape patted her awkwardly, nonplussed.

"It was quite acceptable, Miss Granger, I expected far worse," he said. This was apparently the wrong thing to say, as she burst into tears. Snape looked desperately at Potter, who grinned.

"Don't mind her. She works herself up when she gets a project like this. It has to break sometime."

"Must it break on me?" Severus mouthed, still patting. Harry grinned and drew her away as she hiccoughed an apology, and Snape shut the door behind them.

He turned, and wished for a moment he had a camera, so that he could capture the surreality of the scene. Seven Weasley heads fighting a battle against the gloom, Fleur's beauty rather winning said battle as she leant against her husband, and Potter standing with arms crossed beside one of the first completely muggleborn visitors to his house in a very long time, who was still sniffing softly. And on a seat in the midst of them all, Draco Malfoy, who looked genuinely terrified to be there.

"I'm afraid I can offer little hospitality. Only scotch," said Snape, gesturing to the bottle on the mantelpiece.

"I'll take some," said Charlie, grinning at his mother's look, and Snape handed him the bottle. He took a swig, toasting Snape silently, and handed it back. Snape promptly gave it to Hermione.

"Pull yourself together, woman," he said, and Hermione laughed wetly and took a swig. She coughed rather a lot, laughed again, then straightened and gave Snape a smile. Snape would not have known how to start in returning it.

"Draco, may I have a word?" said Snape, taking pity on the boy, and nodded towards the kitchen. The pale boy nodded and followed him into the kitchen.

"What's with the Weasley delegation?" sneered the boy, and Snape gave him a quelling look.

"They have been good to me. Was there a reason you wished to find me?"

Draco shrugged.

"Just... to say congratulations."

"Thank you," said Snape. They stood opposite each other, and Snape could see in Draco's grey eyes what he'd really come about.

"You should have told me," he said eventually, very quietly.

"I wish I could have," said Snape, equally quietly, and Draco looked down. Snape laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I really fucked up, didn't I?" said the boy.

"You made the same mistake as I, for much better reasons. I  _saw_ the Dark Lord, Draco, I saw what he was, but I was young and very, very angry. But you knew no other path."

"Neither did you, by the sound of it," said Draco.

Snape sighed.

"I knew a good woman. If I was a better man, it would have been enough. But it's over now."

Draco laughed darkly.

"Dad's ill. Potter got him off, but it hardly matters since he's going to die anyway. Mum's not coping well, and we get Howlers every day. And Slytherins may as well give up on wizarding society right now, even the ones on their side, they think we're all either with the Dark or cowards. Which most of us are. It's  _not_ over."

Draco's voice was hard now, and his eyes sparkling. He made to turn away, but Snape squeezed the hand on Draco's shoulder and pulled the boy closer, comforting him in a way he had not for many years, not since a little blond boy in Malfoy Manor ran right into him and refused to let go. He'd thought, back then, that he should not have been the one to console him; he'd turned from that side, betrayed the boy's family, and Death Eater children were no longer a concern to Snape. Now he realised how different Draco's life might have been, if his favouritism in the classroom had been backed by real feeling, if he'd made himself a family member like he'd almost been. Draco might have even brought more Slytherins into the fight for light.

Snape stroked his hair, and added another to his list of regrets.

"Forgive me, Draco," he said softly. "I should have done more."

"You tried to help," murmured Draco into Snape's robes.

"And I will try again," said Snape. "If you need me, I will be there."

Draco nodded against Snape, and Snape stroked his hair idly, lost in a past he would be glad to leave behind, if ever he found he could. Only a slightly choked noise from the door brought him out of his reverie, and sent Draco springing out of his arms and into a defensive position.

"Oh, Potter, what a surprise, it is  _you_ interrupting a private conversation," he said, and Potter stopped looking bemusedly between them to grin.

"It didn't look like conversation, Sir," he said cheekily.

"The significant word was _private_," said Snape, and Potter just rolled his eyes. Then he seemed to remember Draco, and something between hatred and apology wrestled awkwardly on his face. Draco seemed to have no such conflict, glaring at Potter as though he was the worst thing he could possibly imagine.

"Er, you're probably right, sorry," he said, avoiding Draco's eyes, sentiment tainted by the note of resentment Potter could not quite keep out. "We'll just go then. Mrs Weasley is going home to start dinner and wants to know if you are coming. Er, she said Draco could too if he likes."

Draco snorted.

"Ah, I'll just sit next to their eldest, shall I? We can chat about how I nearly killed him with a werewolf. You can keep your little surrogate family, Potter, I've got my own."

Snape laid a hand on Draco's shoulder, half support and half restraint, and Potter looked so blatantly and unaccountably betrayed by the action that Snape almost wanted to sneer, just to punish the boy for presuming Snape's hesitant friendship meant his unconditional loyalty.

But then again, he rather wanted to know why Potter would be so upset about Severus taking the side that he would have assumed was obvious.

"Draco," he said instead. "Perhaps you should talk to Mr Weasley. He is quite well, and I think he would be quick to forgive in the face of your regret."

"Who says I regret it?" snarled Draco, and what on earth was it about Potter that brought out the worst behaviour in them both?

"Draco," Snape warned, cutting off the imminent battle with Potter, a battle that Draco could never ever win. "Potter, I will be along shortly."

Potter looked curiously relieved. He threw a quiet smile at Snape as he left.

Snape was quite as taken aback as Draco looked.

"What the hell is going on?" said Draco, and it was his turn to look betrayed.

"I have no idea, Draco. When you get into the hands of Gryffindors, there seems to be no logic and no escape."

Draco did not look impressed. Snape sighed.

"They seem to have dropped their grudges, and I am too tired to hold onto mine. Perhaps when you are as old as me you will feel the same."

Draco snorted.

"Oh, because you're so ancient," he said. Then he frowned.

"I should go. Mother will be going spare."

He turned to leave through the back door. Snape halted him.

"Draco, tell your mother something from me. Tell her she still has friends, and family who might be glad to end a feud. She might like to meet her great-nephew one day."

Draco sneered.

"I'll tell her," he said. "But I'm not sure she's going to suddenly decide blood traitors and mudblood children are alright. _ I'm_ certainly not."

Snape simply raised an eyebrow.

"You don't count," said Draco, blushing scarlet, and disappeared out the door in a flash of embarrassment.

Snape sighed, and made his preparations for returning to the intimidating bosom of the Weasley family.


	7. Chapter 7

They were all outside by the tables when he arrived. Potter, inexplicably, gave him a bright grin as he sat. Apparently he was forgiven, then.

"Merlin save me, sat next to you," said Snape, attempting to knock Potter's smile down a little; it did not work.

"It'll ruin your reputation," he agreed, smirking.

Severus could not think of an adequately unpleasant reply. Harry smiled, and looked away.

Snape followed his gaze, suddenly aware that the entire party was watching him. Mrs Weasley beamed, brandishing a bottle of sparkling wine, which proceeded to float merrily to each guest's cup. When the bottle returned to her, she brandished it pointedly at her seated family. They all looked slightly awkward.

  
"Well, one of you should do it," she said. "Bill, you're eldest."

"Yes, but Dad – or Harry –"

"Oh, bother this, I'll do it," said Charlie, and stood with his glass up. "Ahem," he said throwing his head back. "I believe that the people of this table would very much like to propose a toast to Severus Snape. He has triumphed through untold adversity, kicked evil's arse and now lives freely to tell the tale, so three cheers for Snape!"

"Charlie, honestly," said Mrs Weasley, and then, "To Severus!"

Snape felt strangely mortified. He'd spent untold years craving acclaim, but now he had it he thought he'd rather run and hide. It was amusing, however, to hear a group of people more accustomed to calling him 'Snape' all try to look like they were comfortable using his first name.

Charlie sent him a grin. Potter, beside him, looked uneasy. Snape wondered if Charlie bothered Potter that much, even now.

"To Severus," repeated Molly, looking teary, and Snape was appalled.

"Thank you," he said, shifting in his seat, and she smiled.

"Thank you, Severus. Now, I think we all better tuck in before it goes cold!"

Everyone set to with enthusiasm, and for the first time in a while Snape remembered his appetite.

"But that is not all!" said Fleur, spooning out casserole with dainty precision. "Bill has a little something to cheer about also!"

Bill looked abashed but pleased as the party toasted his new and lucrative position at Gringotts. This led into a round of curse-breaking stories, which led into dragon-taming stories, which led into a competition between Bill and Charlie as to who had the best anecdote. They were cut down by George giving everyone an enigmatic smile and saying simply:

"Oh, the stories I could tell..."

"Go on then," said Bill, but George shook his head.

"Unfortunately, I value my life, and most of them mum doesn't know about," he said, prompting Molly to begin the third degree loudly over the starters. George looked unruffled.

"Wish I –" began Potter, then trailed off. Snape looked at him.

Potter grinned sheepishly.

"I was going to say something about having adventures, but I suppose I had plenty," said Harry. "Not that many of them were any fun."

"You will never convince me you don't enjoy flirting with danger, Potter," said Snape.

"Sometimes," said Potter, and his grin was more consciously charming than Snape had ever seen.

"Potter –" he said, and stopped.

"Potter, what?" said Harry, grin broad.

Snape sighed.

"I was merely wondering at your successful progress into adulthood, and how it ever occurred."

Harry grinned.

"With a lot of luck and a lot of help," he said. His smile turned shy. "You should know about the second bit."

"I was hardly a friend," Snape reminded him.

"I know," said Harry. "But you were still on my side. It doesn't matter how."

Snape wanted to disagree, wanted to say that of course it mattered, they hated each other, but as uneasy as it made him Snape knew that it was not strictly true. He'd meant it, back in the Ministry.

Snape was not entirely sure why Potter _did_ seem to like him. He might have been trying to be less... relentlessly horrible, but he'd hardly been nice.

"I suppose it doesn't," he said, in mock-despair.

"Have some more potatoes, Severus," said Molly. "You look like you've lost pounds!"

"Wow," said Harry. "Weird not to be the one getting that."

"You're hardly elephantine, Potter," said Snape, looking him over.

"I know," he said, swallowing another forkful of casserole. "I think I'm just destined to be short and skinny. Maybe I should start playing Quidditch again."

Snape huffed involuntarily. Potter grinned.

"Don't see how you could not like Quidditch."

"Of course I like Quidditch," said Snape irritably. "Who have you ever met who doesn't like Quidditch?"

"Why that urgh, then?"

Snape considered.

"It's not the game, it's the players," he said eventually.

"Oh," said Potter, looking mildly offended.

"I didn't mean you specifically," he said, wondering why he was bothering.

"My dad, then," said Potter, a familiar line forming between his eyebrows.

"A topic I think we should avoid, if you are so earnest about being friends," said Snape, with as much calm as he could muster. "In any case, he's only one example. Do you not recall Ludo Bagman?"

Potter made a visible attempt to quash his irritation, and smiled weakly.

"I don't think all Quidditch players are like him," said Harry.

"But they do tend to have little intelligence and even less common sense, varying from dim to obsessive to violent depending upon their position, and they generally made the most dreadful students. Oh, perhaps I do mean you," he said. Potter, to his relief, snorted.

"We can't all be writing our own textbooks," he said. Snape smirked. "Besides, I knew loads of nice Quidditch players in school. Ron, for a start, and Ginny, and Angelina and Katie and Cho and Cedric..."

"Yes, Diggory was nice, wasn't he?" said Snape, innocently examining his fork.

"You certainly bring him up a lot, Professor," said Harry. Severus could see his grin out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you sure you are not projecting your own desires onto me?" murmured Snape.

Potter covered his shocked laugh with the rim of his glass.

"You're the one obsessing over an imaginary relationship between two teenage boys," he murmured back.

"The mere thought makes me ill," said Snape, utterly lying.

"Ah, because Charlie's that much older..."

Snape hit him on the head with his fork. Harry laughed.

"Careful, Potter, you'll sound jealous," he said.

"Jealous?" said Harry. "How do you mean?"

"If you've eyes on a male Weasley this time, I'm hardly going to stop you," said Severus, and was intrigued when Harry looked shifty.

"Ah. Right," he said. "Yeah."

"I don't think they're fighting," said Hermione to Ron, in the worst whisper Snape had ever heard.

"We're not fighting, Hermione," said Harry. "Maybe give us until dessert."

Snape smirked. Hermione looked pleased and intrigued.

Potter turned to his friends, and Snape told himself he was glad to have some peace. He contented himself watching Ginny; she was talking cheerfully to Charlie and carefully ignoring Potter, if you did not count the sly glances to check if he'd noticed. He hadn't.

"How is Miss Weasley?" murmured Snape into Potter's ear. He smiled and turned his head.

"Alright, I think. We haven't had the chance to talk much, but she dragged me into her room for a talk the other night so I told her about... my feelings at the moment. She took it really well."

Snape smirked.

"Did you tell her you loved her like a sister?"

Potter frowned.

"Why?"

"Because if you did, I would watch your genitalia, because she promised to hex them off."

Potter winced. Snape snorted.

"So is she not alright?" said Potter quietly, leaning forward.

"I have no idea," said Snape. Potter's dark lashes fluttered as he winced again, and Snape realised that his eyes were not Lily's at all. They were a deeper green, subtly different, or perhaps it was just the dark lashes casting shadows in them. But more than that, they showed Potter's spirit, all innocence and defiance, and they were beautiful.

Harry looked up quizzically into Snape's stare, and Snape raised an eyebrow.

"She's certainly been keeping an eye on you," he said, glancing up to the woman herself, and was surprised to meet a vitriolic Weasley glare in his direction. He frowned, then glanced at Potter and realised how close he was.

And how Potter was leaning in.

He sat back with a feeling of great disturbance, and was grateful for the distraction of dessert. After being handed more trifle than one man could possibly be expected to eat, Snape pushed his chair back, and listened to the sounds of lazy after-dinner chatter with a feeling of peace he could barely recall experiencing.

No, he recalled it. It was with Lily, on the grounds of Hogwarts, sharing a book in comfortable closeness. They'd been eleven years old.

Snape was not sure he had felt anything more innocently good since then.

"Are you alright?" said Potter. "You look... er, serious."

Snape rolled his eyes.

"I was thinking, Potter. People do that, on occasion."

"You especially," said Harry. "You know, half the reason I hated you is because you made me feel stupid."

"A harsh judgement," said Snape idly. "You are simply lacking in even the slightest bit of sense."

"Ah, and you're obviously king of sense," said Harry with a grin.

"More so than you, certainly," he said, but he'd obviously somehow conveyed his lack of seriousness to Potter, who would never previously have distinguished between genuine spite and verbal sparring.

"I do alright," he said, smile wry, and turned to Ron again.

When everyone was feeling a little less stuffed, Molly brought out the wireless again.

"Celestina Warbeck's Hour of Romance, don't you know," she said, and twisted the dial. 'A Cauldron of Hot, Strong Love' started up.

"Oh, Arthur..." she said, in an alarmingly soppy tone.

"Merlin save us," murmured Snape. Potter laughed at him.

Arthur caught Molly's hand and drew her to the lawn, and to everyone's surprise they began an impressively energetic jive.

"I'm so glad I'm single," said Potter, mercifully with tactful quietness.

"I'm kinda starting to like dancing," admitted Weasley beside him, and Hermione's expression turned to something that, considering who it was directed at, made Snape a little ill.

"Go on, then," said Potter. "I'll survive without you."

"Sure?" said Ron, and Potter shooed them away. He then looked around at the table and seemed to realise that not dancing would mean that he would be left, among others, face to face with Ginny.

"I think I'm going to write an owl to Dean then go to bed," said Ginny, full of somewhat unproductive spite. _Gryffindor after all,_ thought Snape.

She flounced off, and Bill and Charlie looked after her, concerned.

"Dean Thomas, yes?" said Snape. "I think she'll be fine."

"Oh," said Bill. "He's alright, then?"

"He's really nice," said Potter, and muttered, "Nicer than me."

"Prat," muttered Snape.

"Are we dancing to zis dreadful wailing?" said Fleur, wrinkling her nose. "Or are we just going to listen?"

"Come on, then," said Bill, pulling her up. "Let's show them how it's done."

Even Fleur's jive, it seemed, was graceful.

"Right," said Charlie, moving up to their end of the table, pulling George with him. "Potter, welcome to the cool group," he said. "Wanna drink?"

"I'm beginning to think you have a problem, Weasley," said Snape, as Charlie pulled out a bottle of vodka. "At the very least, you have bad taste."

"It's what keeps me warm in Romania," said Charlie. "Not man enough for it?"

"I'm older and wiser than you. That sort of challenge does not work on me."

"Works on me," said Potter, and he accepted a conjured shot glass.

George, he realised, was strangely silent. Snape eyed him – he was looking at him with a wary, resentful expression. Snape realised with surprise that they had not truly spoken yet, for all the times they'd been in the same room. Six years of detentions and spite still loomed between them.

"It seems I still owe you an apology," he said, knocking back a shot of vodka to get the taste of the words from his mouth.

"You owe me an ear," he said, but then he grinned. "S'alright, I figured you were aiming to miss. Aiming to miss really badly, mind you –"

"I was aiming for someone else," said Snape. "But I'll concede the badly."

George grinned, and Snape relaxed.

"Come on, let's play a game or something," said Charlie.

"I'm not sure I can keep up with your wild partying," said Snape dryly. He glanced at Potter.

"Me neither," he said.

"You alright, Harry?" said Charlie.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head and messing up his hair. "What kind of game?"

"Truth or dare?"

"Not a chance," said Snape. "I'm not fifteen."

"I've never played," said Potter, staring at his vodka glass.

"Never played?" said George, appalled. "I always knew there was something wrong with your year."

"How about you, Severus?" said Charlie, grinning wickedly. "I bet you played some wild games."

Snape leaned back and surveyed them all with superiority.

"I was in Slytherin," he said. "We are the only house who knows the meaning of the word party. And it's only got worse, judging by the parties I was required to break up in my time. Potter, you're pouting."

"No I'm not," he said, pouting more. Then he sighed.

"Everyone in the _universe_ has more of a life than me," he said.

"Bit of a reason for that," said George. "Which is why you need to drink another vodka and play truth or dare with us."

Charlie poured him a drink. He threw it back, pulling a disgusted face, and set it down in determination.

"Alright," he said. Charlie screwed the lid down on the vodka bottle and picked it up.

"I'm up for it and everything, but I'm not playing around mum," he said. "Let's go find somewhere to play."

"Snape's got a big room," said George. "Bet it's tidiest, too."

George sent him an expectant look, challenging him. Snape rolled his eyes and rose, wondering what on earth was possessing him even considering sich a silly game. But Charlie's vodka was good and he had no desire to spend another evening watching the Weasley family dance.

Potter gave him a nervous smile. Snape looked away, and led the way up to his room.

They all sat on the floor at the foot of the bed. Snape summoned a pillow.

Charlie poured them all another drink, and Snape tossed his back with apprehension. Charlie conjured a spinning arrow; it stopped on George.

"Truth or dare?" said Charlie.

"Dare," said George, unsurprisingly fearless.

"Right," said Charlie, looking at Snape and Potter. "This has got to be good."

Potter looked meditative.

"How about ... I don't know, yelling something out the window? Doing a dance?"

Charlie frowned.

"No one would bat an eyelid," he said. "It has to be something really dramatic."

A quiet pause while everyone tried to think of something that would scare a Weasley twin.

"How about writing something obscene in lights above the party?" offered Charlie. George laughed.

"Alright, done," he said, leaping up.

"Oi, no! That's a rubbish one! We were just discussing!" said Charlie, but George was already at the window, firing a spell into the air. He ducked from view, cackling.

"Does that fit the bill, Charlie?" he said, and Snape peered out of the widow – from a distance, of course – in order to see George's handiwork.

"They won't be able to get rid of that for _hours_," he said. "And they'll never know where it came from."

"Very impressive," said Snape, snorting at the giant pink phallus hovering above the somewhat bemused dinner guests. He had the strong suspicion it was based upon certain other difficult-to-dissipate spells with rather darker purposes.

  


George caught Snape's train of thought, and smirked.  


  


Charlie spun the arrow again. It stopped on Potter.

"Erm, truth," he said, nervously.

"Truth, truth..." began Charlie, and considered. "Hmm... let me think, what did we ask in school?"

"Have you ever fantasised about a teacher?" said George, with a wicked glance at Snape.

"No!" said Potter automatically, then visibly stiffened. "No, of course not," he repeated, much less convincingly.

"Ohohoh!" said George. "Are you trying to lie to us, Potter? you know that's bad form. Very dishonourable."

"Alright," said Harry. "Yeah, I have. Sort of."

"Ooh, who?" said Charlie.

"I've already answered the question," said Potter.

"Damn," said George. "Aw, go on Potter, you know you want to tell us!"

"I really, really don't," said Harry, with a faint grin. "You have to ask better questions."

Snape, wildly curious though he might have been, couldn't help but approve.

  


"Hmph," said George. "Next time, we will."

Another spin, and Charlie got the dare this time.

Snape considered.

"Grope your choice of partner for at least ten seconds," said George. Snape snorted and Potter spluttered in shock.

"My choice?" said Charlie.

"Meaning anyone at the party, non-Weasley obviously, including those outside," he said.

"That doesn't give me _much_of a choice, does it?" said Charlie, locking eyes with Potter. "I don't think I could get ten seconds with Fleur or Hermione without fratricide, or at least a hearty slap. Not that I'd want to, no offence to them. I'll just have to pick one of you," said Charlie, grinning at Snape and Harry. "But first, a few questions. Under or over clothes, where exactly, and what constitutes a grope?"

"I would have thought you'd know by now, Charles, but a grope is this." He grinned and made a grabbing motion with his hand.

There was a knock on the door. Snape, not quite able to cope with the tension of what could surely be a grope in his direction, breathed a sigh of relief.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"It's us, Professor," said Hermione. "Do you know where Harry and Charlie and George are?"

"In here, it would seem," said Snape, wandlessly opening the door. Ron and Hermione looked in curiously.

"Come and join us!" said Charlie. "We're playing truth or dare."

Hermione looked surprised and vaguely disapproving, but Ron grinned.

"I'll play if you give us a drink," said, dropping to kneeling. Charlie poured him out a shot, and Hermione rolled her eyes and shut the door. She sat down between Potter and Weasley.

"I'm claiming trauma-induced insanity," said Snape. Hermione gave him a look as though she sympathised.

"We're currently waiting for Charlie to get on with his dare," said George.

"What is it?"

"To grope someone of his choosing for ten seconds," he said.

Ron grimaced and laughed at the same time.

"But surely the gropee has to consent?" said Hermione, coughing bravely through her drink.

"Who'd say no to me?" Charlie teased. "Right, who's it to be, Hermione, Harry or Severus?"

"Don't even think about it," growled Ron. Charlie rolled his eyes but nodded deferentially. Snape was amused to note that Hermione looked annoyed.

"What a dilemma, then," said Charlie. He slid closer to them both. Snape would never have admitted he was holding his breath.

He slid a hand over Potter's thigh, and Harry went vivid scarlet as Charlie grinned and rubbed the crotch of his jeans.

"Urgh, I can't watch," said Ron.

"One," said Charlie slowly. "Two... three..."

"Four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten," said Ron rapidly, and Charlie rolled his eyes again but pulled away.

Potter seemed breathless. Snape could sympathise.

"Rubbish," said George. "He wasn't embarrassed at all. I think I agree with Ronniekins."

He spun the arrow again. It landed on Potter.

"Truth or dare?" said Charlie, with a glint in his eye.

"Well I'm not going to say truth now, am I?" he said.

"Alright, Potter, I _dare_ you to tell us about this fantasy you've had about a teacher, in graphic detail," said George. Charlie cackled. Potter looked disturbed.

"No way," he said.

"Then you get a forfeit of our choosing," said Charlie in mock-sympathy.

"What's the forfeit?"

Charlie and George whispered to each other, nodded, whispered to Ron and Hermione and then grinned the grin of the extremely satisfied.

"You have to drink another shot, then snog whoever the arrow next lands on. Five seconds, _with tongues_."

Potter squirmed. Snape was beginning to find this amusing.

"I forfeit," he said, to Snape's great surprise, and the group booed. Harry threw back his shot and then spun the arrow.

It landed on Snape.

There was a quiet, loaded pause.

"You asked for it," said George, to Potter. He looked, in a display of tact he might not have used with his twin present, to be trying not to laugh.

"Oh, come on," said Ron. "It's hardly fair, I mean, _neither_ of them wants to," he said.

"What are the rules if the person being kissed doesn't want to be?" said Hermione, looking more curious than agitated. "I mean, surely he's not tied by the demands of another person's dare?"

"Gryffindor, house of the brave," said Potter quietly, and before Snape had a chance to protest, there were lips on his.

For a moment Severus froze, hand coming up against Potter's warm chest, unable to think; it felt like a spark against his skin. Through a shocked haze he realised he should object, should shove him away, but Harry was the first to move; he tilted his head and slid his tongue across Severus' lip, and the scandal of it flooded him like fire. He tried to shove the boy away properly, but Potter's tongue was deliciously insistent – trust him not to think of only _pretending_ to use it – and Snape could only think of how _good_ this would be if he could _really_ do it, if Harry was writhing and desperate beneath him, if they were alone and wanton and unburdened by history.

Harry's hand clutched at his shoulder, and Snape wondered if the nails digging in were purely for balance.

"...Four, five," he heard Charlie say, and he removed the hand from Harry's chest. Potter sat back, eyes on the floor.

There was a quiet pause.

"Nothing is going to top that for shock factor," said George, sounding impressed, and Charlie laughed. There was a twinkle in his eye that appalled Severus, deeply.

"I feel like I need another drink after that," he said, pouring them all shots. He poured Ron two.

"You need to catch up," he explained. _And recover from that piece of insanity, _thought Snape, who would have liked two himself. "I know I'm a bad bad man, but it's about time you got smashed with your brothers, don't you think?"

"You and Bill took Percy out when he was sixteen," complained George. "And now you're giving Ronniekins booze. How come we never got anything?"

"You were sneaking Firewhisky from the Hogwarts kitchen for years before we would have dreamt of feeding you any," said Charlie, carefully ignoring the plural. "And Percy needed to loosen up. Still does, really."

"Shall we spin?" said Snape, glad to have the drink, partly for its effect but also partly to excuse his complete lack of resistance to being jumped on by an ex-student.

The arrow landed on Hermione, who somewhat nervously asked for a truth.

"You know, the usual questions about sex become suddenly far less entertaining when you're talking to your brother's girlfriend," mused Charlie. Hermione went scarlet.

  


Ron, who was looking blank, snapped out of it to look murderous.  


  


"Alright," said Harry, apparently finding his voice. "How about my question. Teachers."

Hermione looked shifty.

"Okay," said Charlie. "Have you ever fantasised about a teacher or teachers, and if so which ones?"

"This isn't exactly going to shock," she said, "But I was young, and I didn't know he was an idiot, and –"

"And you have a weakness for idiot celebrities?" said Potter, grinning.

"Urgh," said Snape, "If you say Lockheart, Miss Granger, my opinion of you may well be lowered beyond all recovery."

"Well, um..." said Hermione. "I was quite young. I don't fancy him _now_."

"Merlin, how appalling," said Snape.

"He was... you know, pretty," said Potter, in valiant defence of his friend. "If you ignored everything he said or did."

"Not really my type," said Snape, pulling his most disgusted face, and Hermione giggled. Charlie smirked at him.

"So what is?" he said.

"That sounds like a question for the game," said Snape, crossing his arms.

"Right," said Charlie, and spun it once more.

"Truth," said Charlie, when it landed on him.

"Your biggest drunken regret," suggested Snape, and everyone nodded.

"You mean sexual drunken regret?"

"Not necessarily," said Snape, rolling his eyes. Charlie contemplated.

"Oh, actually I think it has to be _not_ sleeping with someone. They were hot, I was in town for the weekend, but I slammed back a few too many tequilas and forgot their room number. Little did I know that it would lead to a six-month drought which genuinely made me consider a dragon."

The group sniggered.

"They?" enquired Snape. "As in, more than one?"

Charlie looked uneasily at Ron.

"No," he said. "I'm not that good."

"Ah," said Snape, smirking, wondering if he was too cruel. He did not think much of Charlie's avoidance of gendered pronouns, but Charlie was looking pleadingly at him, and Snape would have dropped it if it hadn't been for the sudden look of comprehension on Ron's face.

"You do know I know, right?" he said. "I saw you snogging that friend of yours when I was like, eleven."

"Oh," said Charlie blankly. Then he beamed.

"Oh, good," he said, all cheer again. "In that case, he was damned hot and spoke very little English and it would have been excellent if I hadn't completely forgotten his room number and knocked on the door of a very confused old Dutch lady," he said. Everyone sniggered again.

"Forgive me," said Snape, looking at Charlie in a way he hoped might approximate apologetic. Charlie shrugged.

"It's a stupid secret," he said, and for a second the inner him was visible beneath the sunny smiles. Snape wondered what Charlie was so very afraid of, that he should be so fiercely cheerful, and hide so much of himself.

Snape spun the arrow this time. It landed on Ron, and Hermione chirped up this time by daring him to shave his legs. He did so, very poorly, with a shaving charm, and his brothers spent at least ten minutes saying how good they'd look in a skirt until Ron fired the charm at George, who nearly had a streak shaved off the side of his head.

George, an obvious master of unusual jinxes, turned his trainers into high heels and stuck them to Ron's feet. Ron was only calmed by Hermione giggling and telling him he carried off heels way better than they could.

Snape leaned against the wall. Potter shifted back to join him.

"I don't think I'm very good with vodka," he murmured. Snape said nothing.

"Aha! Snape!" said Charlie, indicating to the arrow. "What did I want to ask you earlier?"

"What his type was," supplied Potter.

"Oh, yes! Go on then, what's your type?"

"Contrary to popular belief, it's not pretty redheads with green eyes," he said. He smiled a slow, wicked smile at Charlie. "Not that I have any objection to redheads, of course."

"Answer the question, Severus," he said, smiling faintly and unashamedly, staring Snape down.

"I was going to," said Snape.

He paused to think. It was not as though he'd had many affairs – certainly not enough to discern a pattern from. He tended to see the appeal of prettier men than Charlie, more delicate men – there was something appealing about the thought of himself, so unattractive and unappealing, being allowed to touch something something fragile and perfect. He'd felt that way once, as though he had something that should have been forbidden to him, something truly gorgeous. But power appealed to him too, and fire and passion, and in all honestly it didn't matter to him much what they looked like. Only that they felt.

Charlie, he had always known, was not his type at all. His was the type of innocence he could not touch, the sunny, normal kind.

"Dark hair," he said eventually. "Slim, delicate, intelligent, passionate, nice eyes."

"Oh, really," said Charlie. "Have someone in mind with that description?"

His eyes flicked to Potter, and Snape realised it was unsettlingly close.

"I've answered the question," he said, cursing the fact that he could see the conclusions leaping to everyone's faces. He did not look at Potter.

"You've not covered gender," said Charlie, in a clear attempt at revenge.

"As if you need to ask," Snape countered, a far better revenge.

A pause, then Potter took control of the arrow. It landed on Snape again.

"Oh, very well, truth," he said. Potter looked surprised and embarrassed, which Snape thought rather presumptuous.

"Who were you thinking of when you told us your type?" asked Charlie. A pause, and then he added quickly, "And describe your relationship with them."

"Are you sure you want to ask? It's not exactly a happy tale."

Charlie hesitated.

"You're just trying to get out of saying," he said. "Answer it."

Snape paused dramatically, just to see Potter's face.

"Regulus Black," he said, and Potter looked insultingly relieved.

"You knew him?" said Hermione, sounding fascinated.

"Very much so," said Snape dryly.

"What was he like?" said Potter quietly, and Snape looked down at him.

"Like your godfather, only slimmer, more delicate, more intelligent and in my opinion, infinitely more beautiful."

Snape hadn't meant to say beautiful. He swallowed.

"I didn't mean what did he look like," he said.

"No," said Snape. "I expect not. He was... young, and idealistic, and passionate, and immensely troubled," said Snape. "As was I, I suppose."

Potter smiled softly.

"So why did he –"

"Join the Death Eaters? Because unlike your dogfather, and in a way that was beyond my comprehension, too, he knew what it meant to bear a wizarding name."

"What does it mean?" Said Harry, very quietly.

"It means loyalty," said Snape, who still remembered almost word-for-word what Reg had told him. "Because when the muggles come with stakes and flames, who will defend you? It means responsibility, so that you might better wizardkind. It's your place in the world, something you can wave as proudly as a battle flag, something that means there will always be allies. Ask them, ask the Weasleys what it means. The families may be different, but the spirit is the same."

He glanced at Charlie, George and Ron. Their expressions were identical; they _knew_.

Snape had always longed for that. He wasn't like them, he'd never known security like that. He'd certainly found it in the Death Eaters.

He turned back to Potter. He looked transfixed.

"Regulus loved his family, and they he," he explained. "Which was why when his wretch of a brother left them as though his name was nothing, and when he realised that he he was already betraying them in a way he could not control by denying them an heir, he devoted his life to making them proud. Which is why it is a miracle he did what he did – why he did something which he believed meant betrayal, though it brought more honour to the Black family than has been present in a thousand years. I wish I had known what he had planned – I wish he'd trusted me, though I can't say whether that trust would have been deserved. I wish I were as good a man as he."

Snape was drunk. That was what it had to be. Because the man he thought he was would never bear his soul, could never indulge in this childish game, could never tell people he hated of the only man he'd ever come close to loving. He could not entertain the prospect that maybe he was no longer the man he thought.

Potter looked at him, and there was the one expression in his eyes that had never failed to spear him through, that he'd hated more than all the glares and suspicion and resent. It was understanding.

"You are," he said quietly. Then, "I would have liked to meet him."

"He would have liked you," he said. Harry looked away.

Severus glanced up at Charlie.

"I warned you it was not a happy story," he said. Charlie smiled.

"I'm sorry," said Charlie. "But it was good to know."

Ron was whispering to Hermione.

"What are you two conspiring about?" said George, breaking the tension.

"Oh," said Ron, looking shifty. "We were talking about going to bed."

"So soon?" said Charlie woefully.

"Bet you were," said George wickedly.

"We wanted to be in bed before mum comes in," he said, looking so faux-innocent that Snape wished to gag. Charlie rolled his eyes.

"Ah, fine, get gone," said Charlie. Ron and Hermione rose, holding hands, and shot a look at Potter, who smiled faintly and nodded. They left; Potter watched them, smile vanishing.

"Perhaps we should all go to bed like good little boys," said Charlie once they had left. "I'm going back in the morning, and I promise that this time I'm not coming back for at least two months."

"We ought to at least finish the vodka," said George, looking just as glum as Potter at this pronouncement.

"I should sleep soon. But we can finish it in my room if you fancy," said Charlie. "We can talk about all these stories you wouldn't tell mum. Or I can tell you the ones I didn't tell." he grinned. George smiled back.

"You alright for us to go?" said Charlie. Snape nodded.

Charlie stood up, yanking George with him. Snape rose too, and followed Charlie to the door. He caught his arm in the doorway.

"I feel I should apologise," said Snape quietly. "For my pettiness earlier."

"It's okay," said Charlie, smiling sadly. "It was... well, finding out about Ron's given me something to think about. And I was hardly virtuous myself. I shouldn't have asked –"

"I did not have to tell you anything," said Snape. "I did, after all, make a career out of lying. And cheating, for that matter."

Charlie grinned.

"May I ask you something?" said Snape. Charlie nodded.

"Why are you living in Romania? It's not the only place with dragons."

Charlie covered his surprise with a grin.

"Is this a way of saying you'll miss me?" he teased.

"You're avoiding the question," said Snape. Charlie's smile dropped a little.

"I... I don't know exactly. I guess I just wanted to escape a bit, and I've never looked back. I know this looks like... a great family, and everything, but for me and Bill... it wasn't always. When we were growing up was, well, a really bloody scary time to be growing up. Mum and dad were constantly worrying, and fighting a lot, and fighting against Voldemort too, and they tried but they didn't have much time for us. But they were so... well, fiercely protective, they didn't let us do anything and a couple of times they discussed keeping us at home instead of Hogwarts. That paranoia really stuck with Percy – did you know he was the only one of us who wasn't planned? – but me and Bill just... well we both left the second we could, desperate for some space. Us especially, I was stuck sharing rooms with Bill for a while when Ginny was born and it drove us both mad. And I... I've been so frightened of being... I dunno, tied down."

Snape nodded.

"Being tied down can be fun, or so I hear," he said, and though he smirked, there was a note of seriousness.

"Bill likes it, or so I hear," he said, his answering smirk allowing ambiguity. "You're not offering, are you? Um, the metaphorical tying, I mean."

"Of course not," he said, amused at Charlie's horror. Charlie looked embarassed, and laughed.

"No, don't know what I was thinking," he said. "But I thought I ought to check. I've had a few people who thought it was serious when I thought we were definitely on the same wavelength."

Charlie grinned again.

"You're a great man," he said. "Now go see why Harry's got his puppy-dog eyes on."

Charlie turned before Snape could protest, and clapped an arm around George's shoulder and trooped off to the stairs.

Snape turned rather apprehensively to Potter, who shifted awkwardly on his feet.

"Didn't know all that about Charlie," he said.

"Nor do you know the rules on eavesdropping, apparently," said Snape.

"Course I don't," he agreed. "I was always positively encouraged. Not that that's an excuse, I suppose."

"I'm hardly innocent on that front," reflected Snape.

"Didn't know about Percy, either," he said.

"It is certainly interesting," said Snape. "Are you intending to go to bed any time soon?"

"Yeah, right," said Potter darkly. "With Ron and Hermione in it?"

"Ah," said Snape, and shut the door. He sank onto his bed.

Harry shifted awkwardly.

"I'll just go and... make myself a drink or something."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," he said, leaning back into his pillows and closing his eyes. "You can lurk about here if you really want. Though why you would want to –"

"I liked... hearing you talk," said Potter.

"That wasn't talking, it was truth or dare," said Snape. "And I've done enough sharing to last me the year."

"Yeah. I'm sorry. You hate that I know all the things I do. You never wanted me to."

"Do you not hate how much I know about you?" said Snape, keeping his eyes closed. He heard Potter move to sit on the chair beside the bed.

"I... no. I used to, or at least I used to hate you looking. You always seemed to find some way to make it reflect badly on me, no matter what it was."

"Yes," he agreed, "I did. Mostly because I was always looking for ways."

"You're a git," said Harry.

"Are you trying to pick a fight, Potter? Because I'm really too tired."

"No," he said. "I don't know what I'm doing. I'm so... you confuse me."

"What now, was I cheating on your mother again?"

Snape was not sure why he was snapping, but Potter's open rambling unnerved him deeply.

"Oh, shut up," said Potter. "I just don't know what... to feel."

"You know you're drunk, don't you?"

"Yeah," said Potter. "Yeah, I must be. Because I think I kissed you."

"You're not _that_ drunk," said Snape, "I would have thought you'd be able to remember half an hour ago. Is that what's bothering you?"

"_Yes_," said Harry, and it was the way he said it, despairing and desperate and low in his throat, that made Snape pay attention.

He raised an eyebrow with apparent calm, though his heart seemed to have stopped.

"I –" said Harry, then looked away.

"What is it, Potter? Am I not as dreadful a kisser as you imagined?"

"That's not it," he said.

"You're drunk and babbling," said Snape coldly.

"You're impossible," said Harry. "I'll just go."

Snape watched Potter fumbling with the door for a moment. He pulled it open, and Snape surrendered to his urge to stop the boy.

"Potter," he said, sliding forward off the end of the bed and catching his arm. Potter looked at him, wide-eyed and afraid, and Severus realised that in this moment, he could do what he'd imagined. That he could pin the boy and make him writhe and Potter would _let_ him, let Snape brush away all the millions of objections they both should have. Potter was tilting his chin up, whether in defiance or through some instinct, Severus did not know, and he'd never been terribly good at resisting temptation.

He pushed Potter away.

"Come back when you know what you're saying, Potter," he said, and shut the door in the boy's face.


	8. Chapter 8

Snape considered feigning relapse in the morning, but the smell of bacon tempted him out. Charlie and George were already up, both looking somewhat the worse for wear, huddled pitifully over their coffees. Snape wished to join them, for very different reasons.

"Are you _sure_ there's no hangover potion in the house?" whined George.

"Yes," said Molly, doling out bacon. "I'm sure, and you should have thought of that before you drank too much! Oh, morning, Severus dear, how are you?"

"I have been better," he said.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, would you like a cup of tea? I'm about to put more bacon on, too. Really, Charlie, Severus is still recovering, you shouldn't be getting him drunk!"

"I don't think that's the problem, mum," said Charlie, sending a look Snape's way. Snape accepted a mug of tea and curled his hands around it. It was a comfort, though why Snape sought it he was not entirely sure.

Merlin, that boy gave him a headache. What was it that troubled him so? Was it truly his pride that was bothering him, over such an absurd thing? So Potter was attractive – his 'type', even – and he'd been wide-eyed and confused and decidedly available, and it was hardly a shameful thing to be tempted. And he'd not even acted upon it – quite the opposite, he'd been insufferably noble.

No, he knew what it was. It was that he could not seem to get Potter out of his head. It was too much, to be fixated on a boy he'd hated, who he still hated – or at least wanted to. A boy who, despite his bravery and his spirit, was nothing special. Nothing that should matter to him so.

He wanted to laugh. Of course Potter _mattered_. He'd always mattered, from the day he was born, and to Snape doubly so. He'd hated and he'd feigned hatred, and he'd protected the boy both resentfully and with true belief, but had he managed indifference?

No, indifference was beyond him. He cared about Potter, and he hated it.

At that moment, Potter came in, reading a piece of parchment. Snape looked at him, youth and grace and concentration, and was shocked by how much he wanted him.

"Morning Harry? What's that you've got?"

"Oh," said Harry, smiling vaguely at them all. "It's a letter. From a friend. We went out last week and he wants to do it again."

Snape only noticed his hands had tightened around his teacup when it began to hurt.

"Oh, that's nice, dear, want some bacon?"

"Yes please," he said, and sat opposite Charlie.

Charlie raised his eyebrows at him.

"What sort of friend is this?" he asked quietly, grinning. Harry rolled his eyes.

"One Hermione's trying to set me up with. I think I'll go though. He's... nice."

"What's he like?"

Potter shrugged.

"Same height as me, kind of cute, kind of... normal. He was in the year above me, in Hufflepuff, but I don't really remember him. He remembers me, though." A shy sort of smile, and Snape snorted inwardly. Of course he remembered the resident celebrity. And Potter was dating a _Hufflepuff_?

"Bet he does," said Charlie. "Done anything yet?"

"No offense, Charlie, but I'm not quite as quick as you," said Potter, grinning. Charlie grinned back.

"One of these days I'll change my ways," he said, and leaned back as Molly slid bacon sandwiches towards Harry and Snape.

"I live in hope, Charlie, I really do," she said. "When are you going to come home and get a proper job?"

"_Proper_ job?" said Charlie, rolling his eyes. "Charming."

"Oh, Charlie dear, you know what I mean," said Molly. "A safer job. The kind of job you can do to support a wife and children without them wondering whether you've been burned to a crisp."

"Mum, I've told you a million times. I don't want children any time soon and I seriously don't think there's ever going to be a wife," he said.

"Oh, I know you like your freedom, but don't you think you're a bit too old for that attitude?"

"I don't think I'm ever going to change my opinion about not wanting a wife," he snapped. Molly blinked.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, mum, I don't even fancy women," he said tiredly. "I'd have thought you'd have guessed that by now."

Molly stopped. There was a second of tension, then Molly snapped,

"Well that's no excuse! Why don't you have a steady boyfriend by now?"

Snape snorted. Charlie stared.

"Mum!" he protested. "Who says I don't?"

"Don't you think this would have come up earlier if you did?" she said, sweeping up his empty coffee cup. "Honestly, what were you planning to do? Flit around being a bachelor for the rest of your life and hoping it would never be an issue? Oh, I _wish_ you'd said something, I met a lovely young man the other day who talked about you from school – seemed quite taken with you, remembered you from Quidditch of course, and such a sensible boy!"

"_No_," he said. "I'm happy, and even if I wasn't, I can look for nice young men on my own."

"Quite right, Molly, leave the poor boy alone," said Arthur, coming into the kitchen and pouring a tea from the pot. Charlie started.

"Oh, don't tell me you're not surprised either," he said, covering his eyes.

"It must have been eight years ago, by now, when young Ronald came to me and asked why his big brother was snogging his best friend in the orchard," mused Arthur.

"And you didn't think to mention it to me?" screeched Molly.

"Didn't think it worth mentioning," said Arthur mildly. "Boys will be boys sometimes, and if it was more than that I always thought he'd tell us on his own time."

"Boys will be boys?" said Molly, "_Boys will be boys_? Are you telling me it's something _you_ did as a teenager?"

"Well, not me, I was with you, wasn't I?" said Arthur. "But I'm told it's a common phase. Wouldn't you say so, Severus?"

Charlie grinned at him. Potter snorted.

"I may be a bad person to ask," said Snape.

"Ask what?" said Ron brightly, coming into the kitchen with Hermione close behind.

"Whether it's a common occurrence for boys to go around snogging other boys when they're young," said Molly, crossing her arms.

"Er," said Ron, glancing rather unsubtly from Charlie to Potter to Snape. Snape rolled his eyes. "Not for me, obviously," said Ron eventually, "But I think Dean kissed a Ravenclaw boy in spin the bottle once. Why?"

"It really doesn't matter," said Charlie, putting a hand over his eyes.

"No, I suppose not," said Molly, sighing and turning back to her frying pan.

"What have you got there, Harry?" said Hermione, sitting down.

"Owl from Ben," said Harry, shrugging.

"Oh," said Hermione significantly. "Can I see?"

"Sure," said Harry. Snape closed his eyes.

"I've got to go," said Charlie. "I said I'd pop in to Bill's before I set off."

"No lifts on dragons?" said Snape.

"Just a portkey to the continent and a muggle train," said Charlie. "Gabriela's not very happy with me, so I don't get a lift, and it's a dreadfully long broom flight."

He rose. Molly bustled forward and hugged him.

"Have a good trip, dear," she said tearfully, "Promise you'll be back again soon?"

"I can't promise anything," said Charlie. "You know where I am if you need me. Is Ginny still in bed?"

"I'm here," said Ginny from the stairs. "Are you going?"

"Yeah," said Charlie, and gathered her in for a hug. "Will you survive without your wonderful handsome brother at your side?"

Ginny laughed.

"Is this some brother I haven't met yet?"

Charlie batted her over the head.

"Right, I'm going to get my bags."

"We'll just see you outside, shall we?" said Molly, sniffing.

The whole family, most in their pyjamas, went trooping out into the front garden. Snape followed, cup of tea in hand. Charlie was down a second later, rucksack in one hand and broom in the other.

"Not apparating?" said Snape.

"Never was one for it," he said. "Brooms are much more fun."

"I'll say," agreed Potter.

"Mad," muttered Snape.

Charlie grinned and patted Potter on the shoulder.

"You can always owl me if you want to talk, Harry, you know that right?"

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, smiling warmly.

"Nice to see you again, Hermione, make sure you keep Ronald in check," he said. Hermione grinned. Charlie ruffled Ron's hair. "And George, owl me, alright? I want to know how much money you're earning." He pulled George into a manly sort of hug.

Charlie turned to Snape. Snape remembered he'd never been good with goodbyes.

"You can owl me too if you like," said Charlie, grinning. "We can be pen pals."

Snape snorted.

"But seriously, I'll owl you if I'm at the Burrow again. I know I said that last time, but it still stands."

"If I ever find myself with a Dragon problem, I'll write," he said, smirking.

"Too right," said Charlie. "And just so you know, this is your fault," he said, and before Snape could enquire what, pulled him into a long kiss. Snape was too surprised to react.

"You know Harry has a thing for you, right?" he murmured, pulling away a little.

"Potter's confused," said Snape coldly.

"He looks more annoyed right now," said Charlie with a smirk, and in one graceful movement slid away and onto his broom.

"See you all soon!" he said, raising rapidly, and Snape glanced warily at Potter. He was scowling.

"Right," said George, into the faintly shocked silence. "I'm going to work."

"Work?" said Molly, looking away from Snape. "At the shop?"

"Yeah," said George. "It seems crazy to leave it locked up any more when it's fully stocked and ready to go. I'm going to tidy it today and have a look at re-opening this week. I've left it too long."

Molly squeezed her son's shoulder.

"If you think you should," she said.

"Yeah, I do," said George. "Me and Charlie talked about it last night."

"Do you want a hand?" said Ron. "Not like I'm doing anything at the moment, and you're going home, right, 'Mione?"

George considered him.

"Yeah, could probably use a lackey," he said, grinning faintly.

"I should probably return to my home," said Snape, more than prepared to run away from the awkward scene.

"What, Spinner's End?" said Potter quickly. Snape shot him a look.

"Yes, Spinner's End, where I live," he said. "For the time being."

"Are you coming back?" he said.

"At some point, I expect so," he said blankly, staring at Potter. "I've imposed upon this house's hospitality for quite enough for now."

"Oh, nonsense," said Molly, at a tenth of her usual volume, evidently still somewhat shocked. "You know you can stay for as long as you like."

"I am exceedingly grateful, Molly, but I have much to sort out. I need to begin living by my own means."

Molly smiled, understanding.

"Do you want another cup of tea before you go, Severus?"

"That would be nice," he said, unsure why he wanted to linger despite the overwhelming instinct to run.

The remainder of the group, all looking rather dejected, returned to the kitchen. Ron, George and Hermione went upstairs to get ready; Potter sat opposite Snape, and stared into his fresh cup of tea.

"What is it now, Potter?" snapped Snape.

Potter looked up and shrugged.

"Everyone seems to be doing something," he said. "But I don't have a clue where to start. I thought... when I was with Ginny, it was easy. I was going to sell Grimmauld Place and get a nice house with her, and maybe rebuild Godric's Hollow for when we need more space. I was going to see if I could be an Auror. I really don't want to live on my own."

"Maybe you ought to, Potter," he said. "Maybe it will be good for you."

"Do you want to live alone?"

Snape considered.

"Not especially," he said. "But the thought of living with someone in any setting smaller than Hogwarts appalls me."

It did appall him. Yet why did the vision of sitting alone with his wine and his books no longer hold as much appeal?

"You live here alright."

"I'm a guest," he said. "And my stay is short-term. I daresay the daily routine would get tired very quickly."

He shot a shifty glance at Molly, who was tidying the kitchen with unusual thoughtfulness. Harry caught the look and smiled.

"Yes, it can get a bit... tiring," he said dryly. "I think I need to get out."

"Owl this 'normal' boy. I'm sure he can keep you entertained."

Potter smiled, looking up at Snape through his lashes.

"I'm not convinced _normal_ will work for me," he said. "But you're right, I should owl him."

He sipped his tea. Snape swallowed, and looked to his.

"I will, you know," he said, after a moment. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Come back. When I know what I'm saying."

And before Snape could formulate an adequate response, he set down his tea and slid away.

Snape left before he came back downstairs.

*  


Spinner's End was prison-like and miserable. By the third day, he'd decided to move. He went to the goblins and discussed his small inheritance from Dumbledore, and the type of property he might buy with it; he contacted a muggle estate agent to sell his own home. He looked at maps and photographs of areas he might move to. He even viewed a house in Yorkshire, a pretty little cottage that felt too much like it ought to have children and animals gambolling about it, not one bitter old man and a million books.

He owled Minerva for advice, and she sent him owls with nice locations or pleasant houses in them. None of them seemed right.

He gave up on looking for a while, and began to concentrate on selling mail-order potions through an advert in the Daily Prophet, all the while making his current house saleable. He sent a stock of potions to the Weasley family in repayment of their kindness, and sent Narcissa a letter which received a polite reply and an open invitation to dinner. Snape could not bring himself to take it.

Occasionally, he would look out of the newly revealed window, as if expecting Potter to be on his front step. He was surprised when one afternoon it was Molly instead.

"Hello, Severus," she said. "I brought you a casserole."

"Oh," he said, surprised. "Thank you."

He took the dish from her hands. Molly beamed and peered over his shoulder.

"I thought I'd come by and see how you were doing. Oh, goodness, you've redecorated!"

That was possibly an understatement, thought Snape. He'd removed most of the bookcases and packed all his books into boxes which filled his bedroom, and he'd painted the whole room magnolia and charmed his furniture cream. He'd bought cream curtains too, and cleaned the carpet, and there was a room-brightening lampshade on the old electric light. The kitchen was painted magnolia too, with sunny yellow curtains. The Estate Agent had been very enthusiastic about magnolia.

"Come in," he said. "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh, a tea would be lovely," she said, settling down onto one of Snape's chairs. Snape took the casserole into the kitchen and laid out tea and biscuits. He wondered if he would see Molly regularly like this, now. He wondered whether he was alarmed or glad.

"Oh, hobnobs!" she said. "I really oughtn't, but just one won't hurt." She picked one off the tray and dunked it in her tea. "So, how have you been?"

"Very well," he lied. He paused, but Molly looked at him expectantly, so he added, "I am selling the house."

"Oh, I see!" she said. "Do you have somewhere to move to?"

"Not yet," said Snape. "I am still looking."

"Oh, Harry has that problem too, I think," she said. "He's moved in at Grimmauld Place and he's trying to fix it up a little, but it's such a dreary place, full of bad memories, and I know he doesn't want to live there. He said it's nice to be in London, though – according to Ron he's spending a lot of time in the Muggle world, 'clubbing' I believe he called it, Merlin knows what that is but Arthur assures me it's nothing to do with hitting people so that's good. Ron and Hermione moved out recently, too, they have a lovely little flat near Diagon Alley and I think they see Harry quite regularly. Hermione's studying to be a healer, I believe, and Ron's helping George in the shop – and by goodness, they really do seem to make a lot of money. I've had an owl from Charlie," she said, and paused significantly. "He asked if you were well. Does he... owl you, too?"

"Not as yet," said Snape, internally smirking.

"I see. So..."

"So?" said Snape innocently.

"So you and he... you're not..."

"No," said Snape.

"Oh, said Molly, looking relieved. "Oh, good. That is to say – you'd be a terrible match. He's so... flighty. I can't imagine what it would take to pin him down."

"Me neither," said Snape, wondering why Molly thought Severus was looking to do any pinning anyway. "How is Bill?"

"Oh, very well, I believe. Fleur's really showing now, and heavens, she glows! But apparently the hormonal rages are something to be seen."

"I can well imagine," said Snape.

"And Percy came around the other day – he's got a new girlfriend, he brought her round to say hello... she's, well, a little bit – alternative, I suppose I would call her, and older than him, but he seemed much less, well, tightly wound, so I think she's good for him. And Arthur's finally making some progress in the Ministry, he's just got a new job in the muggle liaison office, thanks to Kingsley of course, he's such a dear. And Teddy's getting bigger and more troublesome by the hour, but Harry's really pitching in with him. Oh, and Ginny's on the reserve team for the Hollyhead Harpies!"

"I'm sure she's very pleased," said Snape. "Is she seeing Thomas?"

"No," said Molly. "She tells me that he's a close friend but that it would never work out as a relationship. She also says she's 'sort-of seeing someone', but she won't tell me what that means or who it is, which is a little troubling, to say the least. But she seems very happy, whoever he is. Everyone really seems to be settled. It's very strange, not having someone to worry about all the time!"

Snape sipped his tea and said nothing.

"I don't think I'll ever stop worrying about Harry, of course," she said eventually.

"Me neither," murmured Snape, and Molly smiled.

"I suppose you've been worrying about him as long as I have, haven't you?"

"Longer, I should think," said Snape. "I cannot seem to avoid it."

Yet he was glad to hear of him.

"You two really seemed to be getting along, didn't you?" said Molly.

"In a manner of speaking," said Snape, who wasn't quite sure what they'd had between them.

"If he's house-hunting too, perhaps you two ought to get together and swap tips," she said. Snape could hear the beginnings of a plan in her voice, and he found himself disinclined to discourage it.

"Perhaps," he said, and picked up a hobnob.

"Would you like to come to dinner on Sunday?" she said. "I was going to make it a big one, in honour of Arthur's promotion."

Snape hesitated. Did it seem right, to go to a family lunch, when he was no longer especially affiliated with them?

"You don't have to answer now. Have a think about it and owl me when you decide. Thank you ever so much for the potions, by the way, I so rarely get time to brew – and of course, I'm no master."

Severus accepted the thanks with a bow of his head.

"Well, I ought to be off," she said, setting down her empty teacup. "I'll leave you to your decorating. Do think about coming to lunch, Severus, I'm sure this is all keeping you very busy but we'd all like to see you again."

"Thank you, Molly, I will think about it," he said. "And thank you for the casserole."

"No problem, Severus dear," she said, standing on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "See you soon."

"It was good to see you," he said, honestly, and Molly squeezed his hand. He saw her out, and waved as she apparated away.

He sat down in his empty magnolia lounge, and pretended that he was at least considering not going.

*  


  
He did a lot of pretending that week. He pretended that he wasn't thinking about Potter in muggle clubs, dancing with boys far prettier than he; he pretended he wasn't hoping that Potter would keep his word, and come back when he was sure of himself; he pretended he wasn't wearing his waistcoat and trousers for any reason other than comfort.

He pretended, as he arrived at the Burrow with wine for Molly and Arthur, that he wasn't terrified.

"Ah, Severus," she said, "We're eating in the garden, as usual – good job it's such a lovely day! Really, we must consider expanding this room a bit –"

"Molly, dear, the whole house will fall down," said Arthur, from his position dutifully making the gravy.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Oh, Severus, is that for dinner?"

"Yes," said Severus, handing her the bottles.

"Oh, you shouldn't have," she said. "Thank you, dear. Do you want to go ahead? We'll be along shortly with the food."

Severus headed out to the garden with a fluttering in his chest he was quite convinced he'd not felt since his schooldays. To his surprise, the party was much larger than he'd expected; as well as the Weasley consignment, Andromeda was there, beside Harry, and two unfamiliar faces sat beside Hermione.

Harry looked well; he was better-dressed than Snape had ever seen, and he was chatting to Andromeda with the same air of self-assurance Snape had glimpsed at the trial. It looked good on him.

With Molly and Arthur in their usual positions, the only available space was beside him. Snape did not know whether to be pleased or horrified.

Then Potter looked up and gave him a bright, surprised smile.

"Didn't know you were coming," he said. "I wondered about the extra seat."

Snape slid into his seat, nodding at everyone who smiled at him.

"Molly paid me a visit at Spinner's End," he explained. He shot a glance at the unfamiliar faces, and Harry grinned.

"That's Mr and Mrs Granger," he said.

"Granger's parents? Aren't they muggles?"

Harry laughed.

"You look horrified. They're very nice, you know."

"Professor?" said Hermione. "Er, sorry, I mean Severus. Um, these are my parents."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Jean," said the woman, "And this is my husband, Hugo."

"Severus Snape," he said. "I taught your daughter."

"Oh," said Hugo Granger. "Dare I ask what subject?"

"Potions," he said.

"Ah!" he said, "Things in cauldrons, yes?"

"Indeed," agreed Snape uneasily.

"Is there really that much call for that, when you can do all these spells?" said Jean Granger. Snape took a deep breath in as Potter sniggered.

"That is what I attempted to teach," he said, irritated that even muggles had no respect for his subject. "That whist it might appeal, sparks and flourishes and instant results are not always practical. Potions are complex and nuanced and infinitely controllable – the merest adjustment to ingredients may turn a healing draught into a poison, or a poison into mere sludge. You can harness infinite magic in a potion, and even the poorest wizard may access that power – and you can make a potion at your best that may save you at your worst. They are decidedly necessary, and it is a shame so few people realise that."

Mr and Mrs Granger blinked.

"Ah, I see," said Mrs Granger. "Was Hermione good?"

"Obnoxiously so," he said, looking at Granger, who mercifully understood the teasing nature of the comment. She smiled; Mr and Mrs Granger looked annoyed.

Snape, bored with them, sat back. Harry gave him a sideways look.

"Why didn't you ever say any of that in class?"

"I did," said Snape wryly. "Repeatedly."

"Oh," said Harry, "That must have been what all those speeches were about."

"Brat. You were probably asleep."

"I was probably distracted by your voice," he said, smiling coyly.

Snape swallowed, and looked away.

Molly appeared with the roast, another impressive cut of meat, and he and Potter brushed arms more than was strictly necessary. Snape was beginning to feel a little tortured.

"So, Harry, how's things?" said Molly.

"Not bad," he said. "Grimmauld's still a dump, but it's a dump with magnolia paint," he said.

"I'm beginning to hate the shade," muttered Snape. Harry shot him a smile.

"And what about this, ah – beating, was it?"

"Clubbing," said Harry with a laugh. "As in, going to clubs."

"Oh," said Molly, sounding relieved. "What sort of clubs? Chess?"

Hermione giggled. Snape snorted. Harry smiled kindly.

"Dancing," he said. "And drinking."

"And picking up men?" muttered Snape.

"Maybe," murmured Harry, smiling.

"Like a dance hall!" said Molly. "Oh, the fun me and Arthur had down at the village..."

"Tell me," said Mr Granger, leaning towards Snape. "It seems like much of the wizard world seems to be stuck in the forties. Do you think that's the impact of magic on technology and innovation?"

There was a moment of blank silence.

"Innovation is sadly lacking in the wizarding world," said Snape, taking pity. "There is a deplorable lack of interest in the science of magic. It's almost taboo – as though when we begin to question where our power comes from, we may lose it, or worse still learn that we are not so special after all."

"Wow," said Potter.

"How fascinating," said Mr Granger.

"Magical science is a growing area," said Hermione. "The Wizarding world will catch up. Hopefully improved ties with the non-magical world will help."

"So, this clubbing," Arthur asked Mrs Granger. "I've heard of it, of course. Is it popular?"

"With the younger generation," she said, looking bemused.

"Is it like raving?" he asked. "With the brightly coloured clothes? I saw that on a telly once, when we were on holiday and Molly was in the pool. Why do they wave their hands about?"

"It's a bit like raving, yes," said Mrs Granger. "The music sounds the same to me."

"Ah, yes, muggle music! Is it true that you all like music by beetles?"

Potter snorted.

"Poor Mrs Granger," he murmured. "He'll be like that all night."

"The Beatles, dad," corrected George. "They're classic."

"Oh, oh I see! Do you have any, what-you-call-it, cassettes, George? I'd like to hear them."

"Oh, spare me, it'll probably be some of that dreadful noise Bill likes, don't encourage them!"

"The muggle world's the new trend," said George. "Everyone's asking me about muggle jokes. And I've seen loads of older wizards in jeans and things."

"Stands to reason," said Harry. "Everyone wants to distance themselves as much as possible from Voldemort's ideals."

"Ah, yes," said Mr Granger. "You had a spot of trouble with a dictator recently? Hermione's explained it all, but whenever I try and think of it I get a little hazy and think about moving to Australia. It's the strangest thing."

Snape raised his eyebrows at Hermione. Hermione looked away.

"She made them think they didn't have a daughter," Harry explained, close to his ear. "She's been having a bit of trouble getting them back to normal again."

"I'm not surprised," he said. "Changing minds with magic is a delicate thing. Lockheart stands testament to that. Couldn't she have just sent them away?"

"They would never have left her," said Harry, sounding almost wistful.

"Which would have been foolish, by all accounts," said Snape. "Since they could not protect her and would have run a severe risk of being targeted."

"I don't think they'd see it like that," said Harry.

"Have you heard from Charlie, mum?" asked George. Potter stiffened slightly.

"Yes, actually, dear, I got an owl yesterday," said Molly. "He sends his love to everyone."

"Bet he does," muttered Harry, not quite quiet enough for Snape's acute hearing. A pause, and a forced sort of casual:

"Do you two still talk?"

"We have not yet," said Snape. "Careful, Potter, you'll sound jealous."

"I suppose I might," he said. "By the way, Ben wanted me to say congratulations."

"Ah," said Snape calmly. "And how is he?"

"I haven't seen him in weeks, actually," he said, caught out. Snape wanted to smile.

He dug into his roast dinner with renewed vigour. Potter turned to his friends.

The meal was delicious, as always. Severus was unusually regretful that he could not manage more. Teddy began to whinge half-way through dessert; Harry, already finished, took him into the house to play while Andromeda ate.

Ron and the Grangers bid their goodbyes after dessert. The remainder of the party retreated to the kitchen for coffee, and Snape accepted the invitation in without hesitation. He made polite conversation with George for a while, but he knew why he lingered.

He surrendered to his instinct, and got up to look for Potter.

He was in the lounge, conjuring little sparkling dragons that gambolled over Teddy as he squirmed on the floor. It seemed to be hilarious; the child giggled and pawed at them, his hair a rapid succession of sunny colours.

"Ah, and my black heart melts," said Snape. Harry looked up and smiled.

"He's a cute kid," said Harry. "But I think seeing him with Andromeda makes me realise I don't want one full-time."

"There is hope for you yet," said Snape dryly.

"Maybe I'd like to teach, though," he said thoughtfully.

"I take it back," said Snape.

"I think I was a good teacher," he said, smiling and turning the dragon into a golden lion. The light glinted off his glasses. Teddy gurgled.

"You certainly seemed to inspire your little gang into revolution," agreed Snape. He sat and fired a large silver serpent at the lion. It sank its fangs into the lion's neck.

Snape winced. Teddy clapped.

"At least he knows which House is best," said Snape, rubbing his own neck.

The silver snake curled on Teddy's chest. Teddy's hair turned silver.

Snape smirked. Harry shook his head.

"You're a bad influence," he said.

"Because Slytherin is inherently bad?"

Potter opened his mouth, hesitated, then shut it again.

"They've not exactly got a great track record," he said eventually.

"Perhaps it is time to change that," said Snape. "Before some embittered student with ambition decides to take over the world."

Harry looked thoughtful.

"Maybe you're right," he agreed. A light seemed to turn on in his eyes. Snape did not dare ask what it meant.

Harry called back his lion and conjured another dragon, green this time. It prowled over Teddy's chest for a few minutes, then curled up around the snake. Teddy yawned.

Snape watched them, unsettled. He looked up at Harry, who was smiling.

"I've been thinking about you a lot," he said softly.

Something in Snape jumped. He raised an eyebrow rather than risk a reply.

"It sometimes feels like I'm hardwired into it," he said. "That you've been... part of how I think for so long I don't really know how to... not think about you."

"I know the feeling," he muttered. Harry grinned.

"But there's no reason to think about you now. We've not seen each other in months. We don't have to see each other at all. So why do I want to?"

"My scintillating conversation," said Snape dryly, and Harry grinned.

"Probably," he agreed.

"Mind you, I'm not sure why you're asking me. I could not imagine what goes on in your head – if anything."

"I'm not really asking. I think I already know the answer."

Snape was silent. He knew that he ought to say something, but he could not form the words.

"And what answer is that?" said Snape, and he knew he sounded too guarded because Harry looked uneasy.

"If you don't know, it doesn't really matter," he said.

"Ah, there you are, Harry," said Andromeda, interrupting the moment. "Oh, good, he's asleep."

Snape looked at Teddy. He was snoring softly on the floor, the snake and the dragon still curled up on his chest. Snape stood, something tight in his chest he did not want to analyse.

"I should be going," he said, and all but fled.


	9. Chapter 9

He did not look out of the window any more.

Which was why when there was a knock at the door, Snape was surprised in a barely-buttoned shirt, with his hair tied back and splattered in magnolia paint. Had he thought it would really be Potter, he would not have answered the door in that manner, which Snape reflected would have been a shame considering the effect it seemed to have on him.

Harry blinked, stared at the triangle of neck and chest on display, and swallowed.

"Yes?" he said, and Harry blushed.

"Oh, um, Molly made you some soup," he said, and shook himself. He held out a flask.

"I wonder if she thinks I don't cook," mused Snape. "I suppose you'd better come in."

"You're not busy, are you?"

"I'm painting the upstairs rooms," said Snape.

"Mrs Weasley told me you were moving out," he said. "Where to?"

"Nowhere, at the moment."

"Ah," said Harry, "Me too."

"Would you like a drink?" said Snape, painfully aware that politeness did not suit the pair of them. Harry grinned.

"Only if you're making one," he said.

"I'll make tea," said Snape. He retreated to the kitchen.

Potter followed, leaning on the door frame. He looked good, in low-slung jeans and a white shirt, smiling without the slightest appearance of nervousness, which was more than Severus could do.

"Need a hand?" he asked.

"Not especially," said Snape shortly.

"Am I bothering you?" he said.

"No."

"Then have I done something wrong?"

"Of course not," snapped Snape. "For once."

Potter grinned, but it was a doubtful grin.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"Immensely," said Snape. "But you have done ever since you came into this world, so I would not trouble yourself."

Potter smiled, even more unsure.

"I know at the Ministry, we said... well, that we'd be friends," he said. "But... did you mean it? Do you want to be? properly I mean. Because I've been thinking, and you've never really... said anything. Nice. And I'm worried that I'm reading this whole weird thing between us that isn't even there. Do you even like me?"

Snape stared.

"I –" he began, and hesitated. "We have a long history. I would not be here if not for –"

"Oh," interrupted Potter coldly, "I see."

"What do you see?" said Snape.

"I've helped you. So you put up with me trying to be friendly. God, I should have known I'd get it completely wrong."

Potter turned. Snape caught his arm.

"Potter," he growled. "I did not mean I feel in your debt. Of course I –"

"Like me?" said Potter, and the hope in his voice shattered something in Snape.

"Yes, I bloody like you, Potter, it should be blindingly obvious that I do given how I have had ample reason to strangle you and have not done so. Now don't ever expect to hear it again."

"Once was enough," said Potter, and pulled him forward against his lips.

At first Severus could not, dared not react. Then the weeks of wanting, years of imagining resolution, seemed to shatter into something that made perfect sense. Snape growled, and pushed Potter back against the door frame, devouring what he'd been fighting for too long, taking what he wanted for as long as it was his.

Potter moaned, pleasure and desperation, and Snape's whole body seemed to flush at the thought that the boy could actually _want_ this, want _him_, old and bitter and scarred where he was wide-eyed perfection. It seemed wrong, filthy, to be running his hands over him, feeling the arch of his back and the twitch of his hips, but nothing had made so much sense in years and he did not know how to stop.

Potter gasped for breath against him, and Snape stepped back, horror and wanting and fear clenching his chest tight. Potter looked at him, glazed and confused, and Snape backed away into the lounge.

"I'm sorry," murmured Harry behind him.

"Don't be absurd," snapped Snape.

"I thought I was going mad, you know," he said, sliding onto the seat next to him, pulling his knees up. "When you woke up, and you were the same but different, like you might have been holding back for once, and I started liking you, feeling... like it was good to have you around. And I never had any worries with Ginny, I was _sure_, I would have married her and joined the Aurors like she expected and we would have had lots of children and I have no idea whether that would have made me happy or not, but _imagining_ it made me happy. But then you told her what you thought and it obviously made sense to her, then you told _me_ what you thought and God... it was like flicking a switch and everything in the world seemed a little bit clearer."

"You should know by now, Potter, I am always right," he said, and though there was a note of shellshock in his voice, it sounded enough like his normal self that he relaxed a little.

Potter laughed.

"Then you and Charlie, that was a whole other switch," said Potter wryly. "You had... well, you were hot together. And I would never have thought something like that about you before."

"Nor I you," said Snape.

"But you do now?"

Snape gave him a look.

"Considering I genuinely entertained the notion of fucking you against a door frame not two minute ago, I'm not sure I need to answer that question," he said, and he'd meant to horrify but Harry's eyes lidded.

"Oh," he said softly. "Oh. Well, maybe you should have," he said.

"Hardly a practical position," said Snape, smirking through his panic, and Harry grinned. Then he looked unsure.

"So, is that all it is? You started seeing me differently too?"

"Define 'differently'," said Snape.

"Well, sexually," said Potter, and to his credit only blushed a little.

"That certainly comes into it," said Snape, and obviously this was the right thing to say as Harry smiled.

"What else comes into it?" he said.

"Is this an inquisition, Potter?"

"No," he said, laughing. "It's alright, I'll talk, and you can either agree or tell me I've gone mad."

"Very well," said Snape, uneasy and frustrated.

"I like talking to you," he said. "It feels like maybe we agree on a lot more than we imagined, like things seem to resolve themselves a little more each time, and that maybe if we keep talking it will get to a point where it'll be really good. I don't always understand you, you confuse me to hell in fact, but every time I think I do get something it makes me glad to know you. And it's like... you look the same, you can still be mean, you're still defensive and petty and everything else, but I dunno... I can't imagine why I didn't notice before how much that isn't all of you." A short pause, and a wry grin Snape found enchanting despite himself. "And you're hot."

"You clearly have gone mad," he said eventually, and was shocked at how much he regretted the hurt on Harry's face, though he'd not meant it that way. "But I understand," he added, and Potter looked relieved.

"So... what now?" he said.

"You _are_ mad if you think I know," said Snape, in agonies of awkwardness that were unpleasantly reminiscent of his younger years.

"Can I kiss you again?" said Harry, not quite what Snape had been thinking, but it rapidly seemed like a good idea as Harry scrabbled closer, pink lips coming to meet with Severus's unconsciously angled jaw. Potter caught him by the hair, not a trace of the coy child he'd imagined, and Severus allowed rather than participated. Then instinct seemed to kick in, and he pulled Potter close; Potter wriggled, sliding his knees either side of Snape, and when Severus caught Harry's bottom lip between his teeth, Harry moaned and pressed closer. Severus groaned, and ground his hips, and suddenly it was a fight against a desire that threatened to overwhelm him, to rub and touch and kiss this boy until he came. He resisted the the urge to tear Harry's shirt and run his nails over the perfect skin. Harry had only asked for a kiss – this was –

Potter seemed to be untroubled by the direction his request was going. He slid hot hands under Snape's shirt, still gasping into the kiss, and when Snape reciprocated Harry smiled against his lips and pulled Snape's shirt open with a scattering of buttons.

Severus pulled away a little, catching his breath. Potter stared at him with red lips and wide eyes, and smiled.

"Potter..." started Snape.

"Harry," he corrected. "And whatever you're going to say is probably not important."

To emphasise his point, he slid a hand between them and rubbed the front of Snape's trousers. Snape groaned, whatever objections he might have had vanishing from his head, crushed by the weight of his sudden, desperate need.

Harry made a noise of satisfaction, and Snape punished him for his cheek with a harsh kiss. His hands roamed to the waistband of his jeans, fingers tracing over the zip, trailing along the edge of his boxers and pulling his hips close.

Harry pressed back, eager and obedient, and Snape was filled with the heat of realisation – Harry was at his disposal. Harry _wanted_ him, as keenly as he wanted Harry, and there was very little in Snape's mind that he could imagine refusing Harry now.

"What?" murmured Harry, when Snape went still.

"What do you want?" he murmured, and was surprised at how it came out, throaty and low. Potter's eyes closed.

"God, I –" he said, and Snape undid the buttons of his jeans.

"That," he said emphatically, and Snape could not repress a smirk. "Oh..."

Snape slid a hand into Harry's underwear and wrapped a hand around him. Harry moaned on top of him, debauchery incarnate, and Severus could barely endure the desires he had now. He wanted to come – he wanted Harry to come – he wanted to pin the boy down and fuck him – he wanted Harry never to move from his lap –

He pulled Harry's trousers and boxers down. Potter watched, serious and wanting, and Severus found the strength to rein himself in; he trailed his fingers teasingly up Harry's inner thigh and cupped him, studying every inch of Harry's face as he slid one finger to his perineum.

Harry's eyes closed. Snape leant up to capture those swollen lips once more.

"God," breathed Harry against them, grinding against Snape's bare stomach. "Do you want to –"

"My question exactly," murmured Snape, trying for smooth but managing a low growl. He traced a gentle circle over his hole.

"Oh," said Harry, hips twitching. "Yeah, I want to."

Snape swallowed. He wordlessly summoned a bottle of oil form his bedroom; it flew into his hand as Harry scrabbled to kick his trousers away. He poured a liberal amount into his palm and wrapped his hand around Harry once more.

"_Oh_," he moaned, and Snape felt he might go mad, watching this, feeling this. He slid a finger back to Harry's hole and stroked, teased, unwilling to take it for granted that he really meant it.

Potter bit his lip and writhed, legs opening wider. Potter caught him by the hair and kissed him desperately, and Snape slid a finger inside.

He had to pause a moment, to absorb the sensations running though him. Harry Potter, bright and beautiful and infuriating and charming and oh-so-innocent, was kneeling on top of him, writhing against the finger fucking him as though he were meant to be there. It was though anything he might have cared about before now paled into insignificance at the sight. Severus could barely recall what he was supposed to be doing.

"Oh, fuck, please," said Harry, and Severus added a second finger as though it had been a command. This was unendurable, he could not do this, he could not stay so restrained, yet he never wanted to stop. He twisted his fingers and twitched when Harry jolted.

The time seemed to stretch into an age, every sensation vivid torture, the look on Harry's face burning into his vision as he watched it, waiting for the time when he saw complete readiness. Then Harry opened his eyes, wide and pleading, and Severus knew he could not wait another second.

He unbuckled his belt and wrapped an oily hand around himself. Harry's eyes were wide and wondering, and he moved eagerly when Severus positioned his hips. A moment, a horrible, fearful moment when all his fear and reason reasserted itself, then Harry leant forward and kissed him harshly, scolding and persuasive, and bore down. Snape gasped, and Harry too with less pleasure to it, and Snape tried to pull back but was met with a steadying hand and a smile against his lips. A gentle movement, and it was torturous, overwhelming, unbearable if not for the hips he scrabbled to hold, the lips still pressed sloppily to his.

Then Harry's face was drawing away, and tight heat was engulfing him entirely. Severus did not want to open his eyes, did not want to acknowledge his shaking limbs and the beautiful boy in front of him, could not bear to acknowledge that he'd surrendered to his enemy, that he _wanted_ it, and that worst of all, there was a chance it would all be snatched away again.

He dug his nails in, and opened his eyes. Potter was smiling, eyes dark, arching and beautiful, and Severus wanted to wipe the pleased expression away, make it give way to the whirling emotion that engulfed him now. He twitched his hips and Harry gasped, and that was enough; he pulled Harry closer, feet finding purchase on the carpet as he drew his hips away and snapped them back up. Potter groaned in his ear, hands clutching his shoulders, moving to meet the building thrust of his hips, his erection pressed hotly against Snape's stomach. Through a burning haze, Severus thought to wrap a hand around him, and though the grip was awkward it took only a few moves of his hand to have Harry stiffen and shudder against him, crying out softly. It was too much to bear – a few quick, awkward thrusts and he was coming, harder than he had in a very long time, hard enough to turn his vision to static.

Severus sat in shaking silence for a long moment, holding on too tightly to the boy on top of him, aware that he was clinging but unable to let go just yet. To let go was to acknowledge what he'd done. And that it was over.

Harry turned his head on Snape's shoulder a little, pressing closer to his neck. Severus had adjusted his head accommodatingly before he'd had time to think. He loosened his grip on the boy's torso.

"Never done that before," Harry murmured, and Snape went rigid.

"Done what?" he murmured, not wanting to assume. After all, the boy had been out in the world for months, finding himself... he'd been clubbing, he'd have picked up dozens of pretty boys by now...

"That. Sex," said Harry. "Or, you know, that specific act. Hermione says it's silly not to count other things as sex, I mean..." He looked at Snape and trailed off. "Is that a problem?"

Severus shifted Harry up and to the side, casting a silent cleaning charm. Harry propped his head up on his elbow, facing Snape, apparently untroubled by his mostly-naked appearance and the fact that he'd just had his virginity taken.

"It's a problem," said Snape, irritated that his voice was rough and his brain was lust-addled, "Because it is yet another indicator of your _complete_ lack of sanity. Why didn't you tell me? I should have – I would have –"

"Said no? Not much of an incentive for me to mention it, is it?" He grinned cheekily. Snape pulled up his trousers, suddenly acutely aware that his living room had windows.

"I should not have done that," he said, closing his eyes. "I don't... do this."

"You're not that kind of girl?" said Harry, giggling. Snape glared until he regained his composure. He looked genuinely remorseful.

"Sorry," he said, resting his head against his shoulder. "I know what you mean. I can't say I really 'do this' either. Whatever the hell 'this' is."

"Taking the virginity of someone young enough to be my son who I've ostensibly hated for most of his life?" offered Snape coldly.

"Hmm," said Harry, sounding unperturbed. "Yes, that does sound bad. Of course, that's not really an accurate representation of the situation."

"What have you done with Potter?" he said. "He only speaks in monosyllables."

Harry grinned and prodded him. Severus had to fight with himself to keep from succumbing to Potter's carefree attitude.

"You know you didn't know it was my virginity you were taking," he continued. "And when I say I've done other stuff, I mean it. A _lot_."

"I ought to have guessed," said Snape. "Or presumed. Or asked."

"I'm not sure what difference it makes. I wasn't saving it for someone special. It's just never felt terribly right so far. I haven't really trusted any of the people I've been with."

"And you trust me," said Snape flatly.

Harry shrugged.

"I'm not sure if I trust you not to get angry and say something really horrible," he said, "But I get it, and I trust you to be a good person. I trust that you meant it when you said you'd be my friend. I trust you with this sort of thing." He waved at their debauched state. "And I was right to, judging by the fuss you're making."

"I could have hurt you," he said, and it was meant to be intimidating, but the look on Potter's face told him he'd missed the mark.

"Exactly," he murmured, sliding closer on the sofa, and Severus tried his hardest to grab onto the threads of why this was wrong, what it was that troubled him so much.

"But what now?" he said, though his arm was moving around Harry's shoulders almost of its own accord. "Have you cured your fixation satisfactorily? Are you quite done with me?"

Harry looked up at him from his position against his shoulder. Severus met his gaze with a raised eyebrow.

Harry smiled.

"I'm not quite sure," he said, "I think my fixation might need a bit more exploring. Unless you're done with me." Here his smile became a little less true. Severus swallowed.

"I'd like to be," he said eventually, despairingly. Potter sat up.

"I see," he said coldly, pulling his trousers up. "Well, if that's what you want."

He stood. Snape blinked.

"Potter..." he said, trying explain what he'd meant, not knowing why this distance was stinging quite so much. Surely this should have cured _his_ fixation as well? He wanted to be cured, he didn't want to want to pull the boy closer and kiss him into staying...

Harry gave him a tired smile and buttoned up his shirt.

"It's really alright, you know," he said. "I know you don't like it that you're... I dunno, attracted to me, or whatever. I don't want... if you're just going to torture yourself about whatever it is we're doing, I'd rather we... didn't. It was really good, though, and I hope we can still do the friends thing. I'll just go."

Something caught in Snape's throat, some flow of words that would not fully form, refused to break through the barrier of his clenched teeth. Potter went to the door, and Snape nearly rose, but instead he just watched as Potter closed the door behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Snape was quite ready for another week of pretending, but the owl he received that morning made it difficult. It was from Charlie, warmly and effusively inviting him to a housewarming party.

He was surprised how much he wanted to go.

He wondered if it was just because he knew Potter would be there. Certainly, it was a factor. The absurdity of it all, Potter's mad departure – it caught in his chest like an ache. He needed... resolution. That was what he'd sought all this time, that was all he'd really wanted, just to live his bloody life in peace. Trust Potter to mess it up.

He shut down the voice that told him whose fault it really was.

He spent the next few days transfiguring the kitchen counters into something vaguely attractive. The Estate Agent had been very clear about the kitchen; he'd even had to order new appliances from a muggle shop. He left Charlie's letter on the counter as he worked.

Saturday morning came, and Severus did not look at the letter all day. At six o'clock, he set down his paintbrush and went upstairs.

He pulled out a grey chenille poloneck he'd received from Lucius and never worn. He pulled it on, pulled his hair back and brushed his teeth.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He was too old, too old for this. Too old to be going to a wild house party, too old to be feeling shivers every time a memory of Potter ghosted across his senses, too old to be only just starting his life.

He turned away from the mirror, and headed out the door.

Charlie's new residence was on the tenth floor of a pleasant enough looking block of flats, and Severus stared blankly at the glowing muggle lock mechanism for a few minutes before apparating up into the corridor. He hoped it would not be too rude.

He knocked on the door. Bill Weasley opened it.

"Professor!" he said. "You're early!"

Snape raised the bottle of vodka in apology.

"I hope that's not a problem," he said. "I thought I might offer my assistance setting up."

"Who is it, Bill?" called Charlie from inside.

"Come and see for yourself," said Bill, grinning at Snape. In a moment, Charlie had bounded to the door, and there was a second of surprise on his face before his bright grin emerged and he threw the door wide.

"Severus! I never thought you'd actually come."

"I had to find out what on this earth could have brought the wild Charlie Weasley back to England," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I hope I have not disrupted any plans by defying your expectations."

"God, no," said Charlie brightly. "I'm delighted. You're always welcome, especially if you come bearing drink."

He grinned and the two brothers stepped back to let him in.

Charlie's apartment was airy and bright, with kitchen units in one corner, a dining table in the other and a set of cream sofas in front of them. Severus was faintly alarmed to see Ron and Hermione busily laying out canapes on the coffee table, but a quick glance revealed no sign of Potter, only Fleur and George in the kitchen. Fleur smiled; George looked faintly glazed.

"Hello, er, Severus," said Hermione brightly, "We didn't know you were coming!"

"We don't know anyone who's coming," Ron reminded her. "It's mostly Charlie's mates."

"True," said Hermione. "But it still stands, doesnt it? How are you, sir?"

"Well," said Snape warily. "No Potter?"

A faint smile crossed Hermione's lips.

"No," she said. "Not yet. He's gone to dinner."

Severus found his teeth meeting with an audible click.

"I see," he said calmly. It was good, really. Potter obviously hadn't been heartbroken; in fact, this was probably a good indication that it was just a fixation, whatever Potter had thought he felt.

He found himself glancing down at the vodka in his hand with a little more fondness.

Charlie clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Shall I give you a tour?" he said, grinning. Snape nodded. 

"This, as you can see, is the lounge," he said, sticking his hands in the pockets of his appealingly tight jeans. "And the kitchen. And the dining room. Door number one, to your right, is the bathroom, and door number two is the bedroom. It's not huge, but it's better than log cabins and tents."

He walked over to the two doors and revealed, in turn, a clean white bathroom and a smallish blue-walled bedroom with a very large bed.

"The bed was a bit of an indulgence," said Charlie, grinning.

"May you use it well," said Snape, raising the bottle in a toast. Ronald spluttered; Charlie grinned, took the bottle off him and sauntered to the kitchen area.

"Hear hear," he said, patting George on the shoulder and peering around Fleur. "Fancy a drink, anyone? Fleur, really, go and sit down, you don't need to worry about the food. They'll all be too drunk to care anyway."

"My Bill vill not be!" said Fleur sternly, shooting the man a look. It softened at Bill's winning smile.

"I'll have a glass of something," called Ron.

Snape shifted uneasily in the centre of the room. Charlie waved him over.

"Have a seat," he said, indicating to the dining table. "Drink? I've got a bunch of cheap vodka to go with your nice stuff, a bit of gin, Bacardi, beer, orange juice, coke, lemonade, and tonic."

"A vodka tonic," said Snape, still uneasy. He sat at the table. "Thank you."

"I'll have a double anything," said George. "Do you want me to set up the sound system yet?"

"Oh God, go on then," said Charlie, and George bounded cheerfully to the bedroom. "Anyone else?"

Charlie made drinks and handed them out, and Snape tried to relax. He looked around the room and reflected that the sight of all these Gryffindor types was not an unpleasant one, not any more; he liked Charlie, possibly against all odds, and George had always had a sharp mind with his sharp wit, and Bill was charming and Fleur as well and even Ron and Hermione were perfectly tolerable. Potter was by no means the only reason to be here, and if he felt out-of-place – well, he'd felt that way much of his life, and he didn't object as long as the drink flowed.

Charlie handed Fleur her iced water and sent her to the sofa – Snape had quite forgotten she was pregnant, so was faintly surprised at the significant bump beneath her protective hands – and came to sit next to Snape at the table.

"So, are you going to tell me what you're doing here?" said Snape. Charlie smiled.

"Yeah, I suppose so," he said. "It's pretty simple, really. I was getting tired of being in the middle of nowhere, and I got a job offer from an old friend. In the Ministry."

Snape stared.

"Yeah, I know," he said, laughing. "But it's not all regulating cauldron bottoms." He grinned at Snape's mystification. "It's field work, for the Department of Magical Creatures. I'll be up and down the country, and probably overseas as well, so no being tied to a desk all day. Lots of paperwork already, mind. But it's nice to be around a bit more. I mean, the war really put things into perspective, and you were right to ask why I was still running."

"I'm sure your mother is delighted."

"She cried," he said. "And she's already brought round two casseroles and a pie."

"Ah yes," said Snape. "I was also graced with a casserole and some chicken soup. I did wonder whether she imagines I cannot cook."

Charlie grinned.

"Quite," he said. He shot a glance over to where the rest of the early partygoers seemed to be sticking small black boxes everywhere. Hermione was talking excitedly to George, who was looking satisfied and firing spells at a larger black box with buttons on. It occurred to Snape that it was a vaguely familiar object – a stereo.

"Right!" said George. "Time to put some music on!" 

He picked up a shining silver disc and slotted it into the front of the stereo. An almighty roar started up, and everyone cried out and covered their ears as George dived for the box. The music stopped abruptly.

"Think I need to turn the volume down," said George into the ringing silence. Hermione giggled. The music started up again, a little quieter this time, but in Snape's opinion almost as dreadful. Hermione, George and Ron seemed to find it entertaining, however, jumping up and down in an alarming fashion.

Charlie grinned at him.

"Drink up," he said. "Everything improves with alcohol, especially music. Oh, by the way, have you seen Harry recently?"

Snape carefully stamped down his memory of Potter's visit.

"Yes," he said neutrally. "He delivered the soup."

"Ah," said Charlie, smirking. "I see."

"I doubt you do," said Snape, looking into his glass. Charlie raised his eyebrows.

"Ah," he said again, more seriously. "Did it not go well?"

"It went how it should," said Snape, with conviction. Charlie did not look convinced.

"Oi, host! Come and dance like a prat!" said George.

"Give me a few more drinks, first," said Charlie, but he rose and sat on the sofa as Bill pulled his hair out of his ponytail and began what looked like a nauseating head movement, sending his red hair flying around him.

"Oh, no fair, you have the best hair for headbanging," said George.

"Could we maybe 'ave something less... shouty?" said Fleur.

"Alright," said George. "How about this."

He changed the silver disc. A familiar song started up, a muggle tune Snape must have heard a long time ago, for his exposure to the muggle world since Hogwarts had been extremely limited.

"Shame dad isn't coming, he wanted to know about the Beatles," he said.

Snape sipped his drink and resigned himself to watching the party, as he usually did, from the not-very-shadowy safety of the dining room table. Charlie turned off the main lights, and the room became much cosier, lit by several standing lamps.

"Oi, Snape, what are you doing over there?" said Bill. "Come and sit next to my lovely wife. You can talk about how vulgar and uncivilised we are."

"I do not know what makes you think I am any more civilised," he said, but acquiesced. Fleur gave him a warm smile.

"I do so like to talk to men who do not care for women," she said, patting his arm. "It is nice to know that zey will not faint or try to kiss me."

Snape snorted.

"Try one of ze canapés," she continued. "I fear Charlie was right when he said zey would not be appreciated."

Snape leaned forward and took one. It was predictably delicious, and it reminded him of how little he'd eaten this week. He went back for more, and accepted enough top-ups of his drink to feel acceptably distant from his limbs. Fleur prattled easily to him about married life and the trials of pregnancy, and then Hermione asked him about concealment potions, and he was beginning to feel like he might be able to relax when the doorbell rang.

"Hooray, guests!" said Charlie, bounding up to the door. Snape tensed, but it was not Potter; instead, a small group of vaguely familiar faces were gathered outside the door, including one of his former Slytherins, a good student, if he recalled correctly. Everyone rose to meet them; Snape was strangely nervous.

"Hey, come in!" said Charlie. "Guys, this is James, Andrew, Lucas and Cadence. You guys, these are my brothers Bill, George and Ron, in case you couldn't guess –" he gestured wildly and George reached out to shake hands with everyone. "This is Fleur, Bill's wife –" Here the three men went a little cross-eyed, "And this is Hermione, Ron's girl, and I bet you can probably all see that that is Professor Snape in the corner there."

The three non-Slytherins looked a little nervous; Cadence, however, clapped a hand to her mouth and gasped "Professor!" before dodging past the coffee table and, quite surprisingly, hugging him.

"Wow, Professor, I can't believe you're here!" she said, looking pleased and faintly embarrassed. "I've been following the story in the papers. Congratulations on your freedom! Wow, this is so strange! Sorry, stop me if I'm babbling, sir."

Snape snorted.

"I find I can tolerate babbling more and more now I am not forced to hear it from the mouths of teenagers every moment of the day," he said, and Cadence smiled. Snape felt his memory kicking into action; a quiet sort of girl from a liberal pureblood family. He'd taught her in her NEWTS year. 

"How are you, Sir?" she said, more calmly.

"I am not a Sir, but I am quite well," he said. He paused, trying to think of the appropriate polite question. "And I suppose you are storming through the Ministry nowadays?"

She pulled a face.

"Not exactly. The war kind of... well, during the Ministry takedown I was kept in my place 'cause they suspected I was a muggle sympathiser, and now I've not got a hope in hell of promotion, because I was a Slytherin. Things could be better, really." She smiled, a little sadly. "You're kind of the figurehead for Slytherins everywhere, did you know that? Sort of a, 'Look, we're not all bad' thing."

Snape snorted.

"I can think of no worse candidate for that role," he said. "I may have been against Voldemort, but I am neither innocent nor pleasant, and I suspect that there are plenty of people in the world who hate me regardless of my... political affiliations. I think, Cadence, you'd be better off making your own examples."

Cadence gave him a thoughtful look.

"You're probably right," she said.

"I'm always right," he corrected. She grinned.

The doorbell rang again, and this time the faces were mercifully unfamiliar: a dark-haired woman, most likely Romanian, and a large, bald man sporting a fresh burn on his face. Charlie greeted them effusively. George changed the music to the Weird Sisters.

Snape went to get another drink. Charlie met him there, pouring drinks for the newcomers, and gave him a nudge.

"You wouldn't believe the amount of questions I'm getting about you," he said. "You're practically a celebrity. I'm half tempted to sell my story to the Prophet. I'm really, really joking," he said quickly, at Snape's look.

"I know," said Snape. He added another shot to his drink. "Is this everyone?" he said. "Save Potter, of course."

"Um, mostly," said Charlie, squinting at the party. "Two guys from work are coming, and my old mate Rich from school, you might remember him –" Snape did not, but the rueful grin Charlie gave him suggested he would recognise him, "And Ginny's not here yet, and she said she's bringing someone. I think it's her mystery bloke. She told me I had to respect her decision or she'd disown me forever, which is a bit worrying, to say the least."

Snape was mildly intrigued. Charlie shrugged.

"We'll see. Are you alright?"

"Reasonably," said Snape. "Despite being significantly older and having taught almost everyone here."

The doorbell rang again, and Charlie shook his head.

"Arnold's forty-eight, you prat," he said, pointing to the large bald man. "He's friendly, you should talk. And my work mates are both about your age, so stop making out like you're a withered husk. And Hermione looks like she'd appreciate company, I think she's in love with your lecture voice now you're not calling her a know-it-all."

"I think not," said Snape. "And I still call her a know-it-all."

Charlie grinned.

"Don't worry. Harry will be here soon. Though I warn you, I did give him permission to bring his date. You might have to fight for him."

"You're really mistaken about Potter," he said.

"I don't think so," said Charlie. "Trust me, I can tell. And I know I'm not mistaken about you. You should go for it, and screw the age difference. Screw history. I'm all about the here and now, me."

"You are the only man in the world who would say that," said Snape.

"Then I'm the only man in the world who has a brain," he said. "Come and party."

Severus downed his more-vodka-than-tonic drink, coughed a little, and considered talking to Cadence again, but she seemed to be being entertained by Arnold. Then he noticed that Charlie's old schoolfriends were hemming in a distressed-looking Fleur, and he strode over to test his teacher voice on older students.

"Miss Delacour," he said. "May I have a word? In private." He shot a look at the three men – Gryffindors, all – and they seemed to jolt unpleasantly out of their daze.

"Certainly, Severus," she said, sliding her arm into his, and they slid through the party into the kitchen area. Severus summonned a chair.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, smiling warmly. "It's the 'ormones – they make me... glow. It is... difficult."

"I quite understand," said Snape. "Are you well?"

"Yes," she said tiredly. "Although, it is hard. Bill is having so much fun –" she cast a gloomy glance at him, dancing on the coffee table with George, "But I tire quickly."

"I quite understand," he said, sighing. The doorbell rang again. Snape did not realise his nerves could be so shot by such a simple noise.

Fleur followed his gaze to the door as Charlie opened it; the flash of red hair indicated that it was Ginny. Curious, he leaned to see who she was stood next to; Draco Malfoy was stood behind her, looking as though he was afraid for his life.

He smirked. If Ginny wanted a way to get back at Potter, then this was it. He hoped it was more than that, though, because he thought they might suit each other. 

He could see a little of Charlie's expression; he was frowning, but of all her brothers he was most likely to accept him. He looked around the rest of the room; Hermione was looking between Draco and Ron, who had not yet noticed but would surely go mad when he did. Bill was frowning, silver scars wrinkling, and Severus realised that it had to be serious. Draco would never have agreed to come, not when he'd have to look his greatest mistake in the face.

"Excuse me," he said to Fleur.

"Off to rescue someone else?" said Fleur, smiling, and he bowed his head and crossed to the door.

"You're not letting the ferret in, are you?" George was saying, expression ugly. Draco was looking furious and miserable, Ginny fierce and alive. Their hands were intertwined.

"That expression never suited you as well as your brother," said Snape, as neutrally as he could manage. George looked up at him, shocked; Draco looked like he'd never been happier to see anyone. Ginny flashed him the tiniest smirk.

Charlie gave him a speculative look.

"He's alright by you?" he said. 

"Your sister is more than a match for him, don't worry about that."

"But is he alright by you?" insisted Charlie.

"Yes," said Snape. "He's alright by me."

"Alright," said Charlie. "Come in."

"You can't really trust his word," said George, though the venom had gone. "He's one of his."

"I trust him, and I trust my sister, and they both vouch for him. Nice to meet you, Draco."

"You're Charlie," said Draco flatly, shaking his hand. "The best seeker at Hogwarts in a century."

Charlie laughed.

"I think that's probably too kind," said Charlie. "Anyway, I thought Harry took that title."

Draco's sneer was impressively fought.

"He's alright," he said off-handedly. Charlie grinned and stepped back, and Ginny led him firmly into the fray.

"One thing you must know," murmured Snape in Charlie's ear. "Draco was the one who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts the night that –" Charlie nodded in understanding, so Snape continued. "He let Fenrir in."

"Ah," said Charlie.

"The Dark Lord set him the task as a suicide mission, to punish his family. If he had not, the Dark Lord would have killed them too."

"Ah," said Charlie again. "Well, Bill's far more easygoing than me – he doesn't hold grudges. You think he's sorry?"

"I think he's too proud to admit that everything he was taught was wrong," said Snape. "But that he can only benefit from the kind hand of the Weasleys. He's certainly a better match for Ginny than Potter."

"Alright," said Charlie. "I ought to talk to Bill, then. Isn't my sister the drama queen, eh?"

He turned to look for his brother, but Draco was already there, looking almost translucent with fear.

"What are your intentions towards my sister?" said Bill, faux-stern.

"Never mind her," said Draco, panic making him tactless, "I need to talk to you. Can we..."

"Yes, if you like," said Bill, sounding unperturbed. "We can use Charlie's bedroom."

The two of them slipped towards the bedroom door. Snape caught a sight of Ginny's face, soft and proud, before half the party turned questioning eyes at her. Ron was an ugly shade of purple.

Snape shot a guilty glance at Charlie, who returned it.

"I really ought to hear what happens, for Bill's sake," he said, grinning ruefully.

"And I ought to for Draco," he said. Charlie smirked, and they dodged through the party to the bedroom door. Snape cast his eavesdropping charm, extending it for Charlie's benefit. Charlie looked impressed and mock-disapproving.

"I need to tell you something," said Draco, sounding more like he needed to run.

"I already know what you did the night I got mauled," said Bill lightly. "So don't worry about that."

Charlie raised his eyebrows at Snape, who shrugged.

"How did you – I mean –" said Draco.

"After you took us to Snape's house, I asked everyone what you did that was so terrible," said Bill, voice soft. "Harry told me."

"I bet he did," growled Draco.

"Oi, don't assume," chided Bill. "He told me the whole story, about your parents too. Harry hadn't really made the proper connection with your family, which is understandable when you think about his, but I got it. I understood what might make you make such a decision. And as long as you aren't proud of it, then there's no harm done, okay?"

"Of course I'm not proud of it," said Draco, very quietly. "And I never... I wasn't really thinking about  _people_ . I mean, I sort of knew they'd hurt people, but I thought... I thought it was just my enemies, people I hated. But I didn't... I mean, I know the Malfoys and the Weasleys are mortal enemies end everything, but you're pretty cool. I never wanted..."

"Thanks for the compliment," said Bill, amusement in his tone. "And I think it'd be pretty childish of me to hold a grudge, when I've got a good job and a beautiful wife and a child on the way and these cool scars I can tell stories about. You weren't the one who hurt me, anyway. So don't worry about it."

A significant pause.

"What you  _do_ need to worry about," said Bill, all lightness gone from his tone, "Is what will happen to you if you ever hurt my little sister. You treat her with respect, alright?"

"I will," said Draco, sounding offended. "I – it's not like I want to like her, my family hate it, but I..."

"Alright," said Bill. "That's all I needed to know. Let's be friends."

"Okay," said Draco, sounding overwhelmed.

"Have you got a favourite song? We should see if George has it."

Charlie and Snape backed away from the door, and a moment later, Bill emerged, Draco trailing behind. Ginny escaped her inquisition in order to pointedly snog him senseless. He seemed to hold her tentatively, like he was afraid she'd bolt. Snape would have smiled, had he been inclined to do such things.

The doorbell rang. Snape closed his eyes against the panic, and made his determined way to the bar. He was throwing back a shot when Potter walked through the door, closely followed by a tall, dark man with warm brown eyes.

Snape scolded himself for his stupidity, and pretended he hadn't noticed Potter's arrival, which was difficult when half the party moved to greet him and the other half eyed or outright stared.

"Yeah, this is Eliot," he heard Potter say. He gave Potter's companion a cold once-over, and noticed that he was giving a rather warmer once-over to Charlie. Snape's lip curled in disgust. If the stupid boy didn't know what he had –

No, he thought, sternly. Potter was not a catch. He was too short and too skinny and not at all beautiful when coming.

Potter, he noted, didn't seem overly interested. He hugged Hermione, patted Ron on the shoulder, then went blank at the sight of Malfoy, who was in the process of entertaining Cadence with some manner of impression. Hermione raised a hand, realised that she did not have sufficient hands to hold them both back, and shot a panicked look at Charlie. Draco caught sight of Potter, looked vaguely alarmed and began glancing around for allies. His eyes caught Snape's, and Potter turned around to see where he was looking. 

He could practically see the wrong conclusions leaping into Potter's brain. He wanted to laugh.

"What's he doing here," growled Harry, though Snape had to lip-read to hear over the music.

"Harry..." said Hermione. "Promise you won't be annoyed..."

"I can't promise that," snapped Harry.

"Look, it's really fucked up, mate, and totally gross, but –"

"Don't say it," said Potter, looking tortured.

"MalfoysgoingoutwithGinny," said Hermione in a rush. Harry blinked.

"Oh," he said. Then he grinned. "Oh, good."

"Good?" said Ron.

"Er, yeah," said Potter ruefully. "I mean, Malfoy wouldn't be my first choice, but it's good that she's moved on, right?" he looked at Hermione, who nodded.

"That's very mature of you, Harry," said Hermione. Ron stared.

"You're both mad. If he lays a hand on her –"

"She's not thirteen," scolded Hermione. "And so far, she's done all the laying on of hands."

"That sounds like her," said Potter, grinning as though everything was right with the world, grinning like his silly date did not exist.

"Urgh," said Ron, "Too much information."

Harry grinned. Then he looked straight at Snape.

Snape forced himself to hold the boy's gaze for a moment, then he turned. He suddenly wished he was sober.

He stayed frozen against the kitchen counter for some time, fighting down the strange mix of hope and fear that churned inside of him at the sight of Potter, at the suggestion that Potter was jealous. He barely noticed when Draco came to his side.

"I'm not sure I can do this," he said. "This is bloody terrifying. How do you cope?"

Snape looked at him.

"Because they make me want to," he said, in drunken honesty, and Draco looked rueful.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She makes me want to, alright. I don't even know why. I should hate her."

"No," said Snape. "You shouldn't. She's perfectly tolerable."

"High praise, sir," said Draco, grinning like a fool. The grin faded as he followed Snape's unconscious gaze in Potter's direction.

"So what the hell is with you and Potter?" he demanded. "He's been watching you every moment you're not looking, and now he's not looking you're staring at him. It's a bit... weird."

"It is," he agreed, looking away.

"So? Are you  _friends_ ? What's going on?"

"You probably would not like to hear the story," said Snape. Draco opened his mouth, annoyed, but Snape interrupted. 

"I'm rather more interested in  _your_ attitude to Potter," He said. "You're avoiding him as though he's liable to explode."

"I'm going out with his ex! And he's not exactly sane. If he wanted to hex me to death in a room full of Weasleys, he would probably get away with it."

"Are you so sure he wants to?"

"Well,  _I_ would. They were childhood sweethearts, Potter's first love and all that, remember?"

"No, not really," said Snape. "I remember a besotted girl and an oblivious pillock. Do you know why they broke up, Draco?"

Draco shrugged.

"I assumed Ginny came to her senses and dumped the prat," he said. "But I've not asked. Why? Do you know what happened?"

"I do," said Snape, smirking. "They broke up, Draco, because Potter is no more interested in women than I am."

"Potter's gay?" breathed Draco. Snape was not surprised to note that Draco knew about him; Lucius had probably told him years ago. 

"I don't believe it. And he told you this?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Snape, thinking of awkward conversations and eavesdropping and the inevitable, vivid memory of Potter fucking him. Something must have shown on his face, because Draco looked appalled.

"That's not related to the whole – staring thing, is it? Oh my God, you haven't –"

Snape could not quite conceal his twitch. To his surprise, Draco burst into cackles. 

"You  _have_ ," he said. "This is just... wow, I mean,  _yuck_ , I mean, did he  _like_ it?"

"Apparently," growled Snape, a deadly warning in his voice. Draco valiantly fought down his smile.

"I didn't mean – it's just, he hates you... and you hate him. I mean, I get that you don't have to like someone to sleep with them, but..."

"It wasn't..." Snape began, and could not find the words.

"You don't hate him, do you?" said Draco, after a moment. "I can't believe you don't hate him. I knew he was like, your biggest fan in the trial, but seriously? He's clinically insane."

"So am I," said Snape. Draco shook his head.

"Nah, you're just –"

"My flaws are, to a certain extent, Potter's as well. We are both proud, both stubborn, both blind to what we do not want to see, both treated badly as children, and we both struggle with the complex social niceties that come so easily to people like you and Ginny. He may be reckless and narrow-minded, but I am hardly better, and I have the advantage of years."

Snape swallowed. He did not know why he was arguing that he and Potter were compatible; he was on Draco's side. Yet it seemed that all those moments he'd spent pretending he was thinking nothing were in fact moments spent producing this argument, fully-formed and undeniable, backed by the pull of his heart. Alcohol and the unforgiving ache in his chest had worn him down, and he didn't know how to fight it. He liked Potter; worse, he wanted him, possessively, he wanted to hex his wretched date and pull him aside and mark him as his own.

But Potter didn't want him. He'd been curious, fixated, and he'd got over that. That much was evidenced in the pretty boy who was dancing with Charlie, the boy Harry'd seen fit to wine and dine barely one week after he'd pretended to be sorry to leave Spinner's End. Apparent pangs of misplaced jealousy were nothing, not when Potter danced and drank now without a care while Snape was left a broken mess, barely able to spend one moment not thinking about him.

"Wow," said Draco softly. "This is big, isn't it?"

"Draco, if you repeat any part of this conversation –"

"I know, you'll make me suffer." he said. "I can keep secrets, don't worry."

"Even from your new girlfriend? I counselled her on her relationship to Potter. She'd hex me to death if she thought I had a lewd agenda all that time. Which I most certainly did not," he added sternly, at Draco's expression.

"Did you tell her to break up with him?" he said thoughtfully.

"Essentially, yes," said Snape.

"Then I probably owe you a favour," he said, smirking. "So I guess I'll tell you something, even though I think all this is the most disturbing thing I've ever heard. I heard Potter talking to Weasley, er, Charlie earlier."

"And?" said Snape, unimpressed.

"Well, Charlie was looking bothered and a bit guilty, and Potter said something along the lines of – 'It's not serious, we both agreed we just didn't click, go for it if you like.' And the guy that came in with Potter has been right next to Charlie on the sofa for a good while now. I didn't make the connection when I was thinking about girls, but just now it clicked. And don't look now, but Potter's looking at you like a big kicked puppy right this second. Why don't you talk to him?"

"This is hardly a private arena," said Snape, a token protest. 

"Oh, stuff that," said Draco. "Just... talk. But don't do anything gross. And promise me you're just doing this so you can hex his balls off easier."

Snape snorted. Draco grimaced in his overly-dramatic manner, and returned to Ginny's side. Snape watched him go, then looked at Potter. The haze of alcohol made it easier, made it bearable, and when Potter caught his eye he did not look away.

Potter swallowed and turned back to Charlie's friends, one of which he recognised as the fabled Rich, primarily because of the pink mohican and leather jacket that Snape recalled had been budding in his seventh year. Snape wondered what scheme he might employ to get Potter alone, and realised the only way was to ask.

He clenched his fists and swept out of the kitchen area. The expressions on his ex-students' faces were comical as he descended upon them and laid a hand on Potter's shoulder. Harry jumped, looked up, swallowed; Snape stared at him for a moment before the words would come.

"We need to talk," he said. Harry nodded, blank. The three men he'd been talking to gave him glares, but Harry smiled vaguely at them and followed as Snape swept out into the corridor, wishing he had his robes, wishing he was somewhere safe and comfortable and away from madness.

He turned on Harry as he shut the front door. Harry, to his surprise, smiled faintly.

"It's weird, you doing that without your robes," he said. "This corridor isn't much like Hogwarts, either. Are you going to tell me off, Professor?"

Snape was silent, unsure where to start. Potter was scowling, too much like his childish self, so Snape started petty.

"Harry Potter, the wizarding world's Casanova," he sneered. "You certainly don't waste time."

"This is about Eliot?" said Potter, ever dense, ever fiery, "Don't you think you kind of gave up the the right to complain about me dating?"

"Ah, so it is a date," he sneered. Potter was incandescent with rage, and it cut through Snape like fire.

"How dare you!" he shouted. "How can you be like this? You don't want me, remember? You shagged me then you told me you hated me and you kicked me out!"

"I –" said Snape, suddenly broken. "I did not –"

"As good as," said Harry coldly. "You hate the fact that you fancy me. You wish you didn't, but obviously you thought maybe shagging me would help, then you decided you couldn't stand the sight of me."

"Well, you got over it quickly," sneered Snape. "All your heartfelt protestations, but you were quick enough to take the chance to leave, weren't you? Don't try and tell me you weren't just indulging a crush, Potter –"

"You're insane," said Harry. "I had a date with Eliot way before that happened, and the only reason I didn't cancel it was because I thought I had to do something to stop myself from going mad thinking about you! I don't even like Eliot that much, he's nice and everything but there's nothing there, we've got nothing in common –"

"You hate this as much as me, Potter," he growled.

" _Yes_ ," he snarled, despair sparkling in his eyes. "Yes. But... I don't want it to stop."

It took three steps too many to slam Potter into the wall and crush his mouth over his. Potter groaned, guttural, glasses askew, and Snape practically threw them away with one hand as he thrust his tongue into the sound. Potter's hands twisted in the fabric of Snape's jumper, pulling him close, and his hips met Potter's with a jolt of almost-pain, and it was torturing and unbearably good to have him below his scrabbling hands, to know that nothing in the world would stop him from having Harry now.

Harry tore his lips away, so Severus bit down hard on his neck in punishment. He ground his hips.

"Not here," gasped Potter, arching, and the unpleasant sensation of apparition ripped though his pleasure; it was over in a second, though, and Potter's body was still beneath his hands, so he could not bring himself to care. He refused to release him, though, refused to let go of what he so tenuously had, but Harry did not seem to object; he scrabbled to keep kissing and open his front door at the same time. They half-fell through the doorway, staggering apart, but one look into Harry's lust-darkened eyes crushed any moment of hesitance he might have had, and Harry's lips ensured that he could not think any more. Harry dragged him to the stairs, one hand pulling his shirt off while the other pulled Snape's hair free and knotted his fingers into it. They hit the stairs and fell, Harry tripping with a breathless laugh, and Snape's patience was wearing thin. He held Harry down as he tried to rise and insinuated a knee between his legs. Harry shifted, groaned, gazed up at him; Snape's hands slid to his belt.

Harry's eyes widened.

"On the stairs?" He asked breathlessly.

"You're lucky it wasn't on the street," growled Snape, pulling his belt away and kneeling on the steps.

"We'll need –" began Potter, but Snape muttered a spell and he stopped, panting.

"You could warn me," he gasped. Snape shut him up with his tongue, tugging at the button of Harry's jeans, groaning when he writhed and pressed against Snape's hands, all the while fighting a fierce battle with tongues and lips and teeth, and Snape could not tell who was winning but he did not think it was him. He managed to pull Harry's jeans and boxers away, rubbing him with rough hands and trailing a finger over the slickened hole.

"Fuck," breathed Potter against his mouth.

"You better be–" began Snape.

A fierce nod. Severus kicked his trousers away and positioned himself, shaking with the tension.

"Mine," he growled against Potter's neck, barely aware of it, and he pressed inside. Harry gasped, and Severus stilled, overwhelmed; he could have this. This was his if he wanted. It was there in Harry's eyes, complete acceptance, lit with fierce desire and the nails digging into his neck, holding too tight, pulling him closer for a kiss that screamed mine.

Eventually, Snape risked moving. Harry exhaled sharply, but he could tell it was not with pain; he drew back, and slid home in an explosion of sensation. He knew he might barely last another thrust, but it didn't seem to matter as Harry was rock hard against his stomach and whimpering like a desperate thing, as desperate as Severus. Another thrust and Harry's head went back, coming into contact with the step above him, and it looked uncomfortable and beautiful and obscene, the lithe torso arching shamelessly against the worn wood.

Then Harry scrabbled at his hips, pulling him into another thrust, and Severus could not think any more. Harry's legs wrapped around him as static clouded his vision, and he braced himself against the step and let himself lose control. His hair fell either side of Harry's face, blocking out the world, and for a few perfect seconds there was nothing but Harry's gasps and perfect heat – then Harry cried out, coming between their two pressed bodies, and that was enough to send Snape over the edge, pleasure shuddering his entire body.

Snape stopped, panting, only now realising how very much his knees were hurting and how Harry surely had stair edges digging into his spine. He pulled away, staggering to standing, and winced.

Potter opened his eyes and looked at him.

"You look obscene," said Snape, hoping Potter would understand the tone as his voice was hoarse.

"There's a shock," said Harry, smiling and sitting up with a wince. The smile faded into nervousness as he looked up at Snape.

"You're not going to say something horrible again, are you?" he said, low and wary.

"No," said Snape. He swallowed. "I know now... just how much of a mistake it would be."

Potter bent over to pick up his jeans. He pulled his wand out of the pocket and cast a cleaning charm over both of them. Snape pulled up his trousers.

"I want to do this again," said Harry, coming closer but not quite touching. It was easier than he'd thought to reach out and run a hand over his cheek. 

"Tell me that's what you want," he continued, leaning in.

"What do you think, you stupid boy," said Snape. "Did fucking you on the stairs rather than enduring a short walk to the bedroom seem like the actions of a man who doesn't want you?"

Harry grinned and moved closer. Snape put an arm around him, pulling him to his chest. He rested his chin on Harry's perpetually messy hair.

"I think this is something. I think this means something," said Harry. "I don't want you to mess me about. Tell me now if you're going to have some weird change of heart."

"Do you know what you're proposing, Potter? No one in the world, save maybe Charlie, will think this is a good idea."

"That's nice for them," said Potter coldly.

"Your friends may disown you."

"They wouldn't. They all sort of like you. They'll get over it."

"What are we going to do? _Date_? Go out on the town with your muggle friends? Get a little house in the country?"

"We can do whatever we want," said Harry. "That's what the war was for, right? And I've been thinking about a house – actually, it's a cottage. In the country, now you come to mention it. I love it, but it's a bit big for me alone. You should come and see it. It's got a basement that would make a brilliant lab."

Snape thought it would be impossible to conjure up an image of he and Potter, together in a cottage. He was surprised when the vision came quite easily. He could have his comfortable life, the one he'd barely dared to visualise; drinking his nice wine, reading his books, perhaps making potions for a living, and fucking Potter over the kitchen table.

"I suppose that's acceptable," he said. Harry grinned at him, then caught him by the hair and kissed him enthusiastically.

"And it's my go on top next time," he said.

"Is it," said Snape, amused.

"Yep," said Harry, then frowned. "If you want to, that is..."

Snape snorted.

"I don't make it a habit," he said, but was stopped from saying any more by the clang of the doorbell.

"Ah," said Snape.

"It's got to be someone from the party," he said. "Most people don't know where this is."

"Ah," repeated Snape, picking up his poloneck. The doorbell rang again, accompanied by urgent knocking. "_Accio_ hairband."

He pulled back his hair as Harry scrabbled not to look like he'd been shagged silly and, in Snape's opinion, failed miserably. Severus began to retreat to the kitchen, but Harry caught his wrist.

"Don't hide," he said, and went to get the door. Severus hesitated, a little back from the door.

"Oh, good, you're here," came Hermione's voice. "We've had one of Charlie's mates trying to tell us you'd been kidnapped by Snape."

"Mad, of course," said Ron.

"Well, yes," agreed Hermione. "But we couldn't find you, and we worried you might be upset. About Ginny, maybe, or... well. We noticed your date was being a bit... over-friendly with Charlie. Are you alright?"

"You look a bit flushed, mate," added Ron.

"Do I?" said Harry faintly. "I'm fine. I was just... I was on my way back. I just had to do something first."

"Yeah, looks like it," said Ron. "Do you know you've got your buttons wrong, right?"

"Er," said Harry.

"Is that a bite, Harry?" said Hermione.

"What kind of bite?" said Harry, clamping his hand to his neck – on the wrong side, Snape recalled.

"You've got a love bite? Let's see it, then!" said Ron.

"Hell of a love bite," said Hermione, and there was something dark and warning in her tone. "Looks more like teeth marks."

Snape didn't know why Potter hadn't said anything. He'd definitely hurt him more than once tonight. The bite had been pure spite. Spite, and the brief loss of Potter's mouth.

"Oh, right, yeah," said Harry, hand switching sides. "I think I was asking for it," he said, and Snape could well imagine his rueful grin.

"So who..." said Ron, who probably hadn't noticed the same things Hermione had. "I mean, that Eliot twat was necking Charlie when we left – er, sorry mate – and you can't have pulled at the party anyway because the only one missing is Snape, and obviously you –"

"Obviously he what," said Snape, bored of hiding. Harry pulled the door wider, and Ron and Hermione stared at him blankly.

"No," said Ron. "No way."

"Ron," began Harry. "I know it's mad, but –"

"Urgh, no, don't say anything. I knew you've had this whole Snape crusade going on, but sleeping with him? Don't you think that's taking it a bit far?"

"It's not about that," snapped Harry. 

"What, has he done something to you? This is Snape we're talking about. The Greasy Git, your worst enemy, remember?"

"Ron," hissed Hermione, glancing at Snape. Snape was not upset.

"He's not done anything to me," said Harry, exasperated. 

"Aside from the obvious, of course," added Snape, and Harry snorted. It seemed it was too soon for Ron and Hermione.

"My sister's screwing Malfoy and my best friend's screwing Snape," growled Ron. "I can't take this. I'm going back to the normal people."

He stormed off down the steps, apparating mid-stride with a resounding crack. Hermione stared after him, and looked back to Harry in distress.

"Can we –" she said, and cast a regretful glance behind her. "Could we talk for a second, Harry?"

She pulled him down the steps a little, not remotely far enough to be out of Snape's earshot. Snape leaned against the banister and listened. There was a cold calm in his heart; Potter's reaction might make or break their strange affair, and he'd like to know now.

"He hasn't – you want this, right, Harry? I mean, you've always hated him. Do you find him, you know, attractive?"

He could see a corner of Harry's smile.

"Yeah," he said. "I really, really, do. Mad, isn't it?"

"How long has this been..."

"Ooh, about half an hour," said Harry. "Or maybe a week. Depending upon how you look at it. Basically, this is way before the 'tell my friends' point, but I suppose it's best to have it out in the open. This really... it matters, Hermione."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"I've never got you and Snape, so I don't know why this would make it any easier," she said, despairing. "I still don't think it's right. He's a lot older. Do you have anything in common?"

"We'll see, won't we?" he said. He seemed happy about the prospect.

"Potter," said Snape, stepping into the doorway. "You've already shocked your closest friends. Can you endure that reaction from everyone you meet?"

"Except Charlie," said Potter, brushing it aside. "Why him, by the way?"

"Because he seems to think you have a thing about me, and vice versa. He's been very insistent that we sort it out."

"We have sorted it," said Harry firmly. "Now stop trying to back out. You said you wouldn't."

"Slytherins lie," said Snape, but the look on Potter's face made him reach out. He stopped before he reached his destination, aware of Hermione's gaze.

"It's alright," said Harry. "I'm figuring out when you mean it and when you're just being awkward. But don't count on me getting it right all the time."

"I will try to be... less awkward," he said. He was suddenly reminded of how he'd felt with the Weasleys, with Dumbledore; he'd kept reaching out, despite his conviction that he should not, that he did not deserve it, and every time he received some crumb of affection he'd curled around it in selfish weakness. Potter was slightly different; Potter made him want to throw himself headlong into his path, to indulge this ache in his heart and have Potter assuage it. It felt heady and dangerous, and Snape held it as much at bay as he could manage.

He decided to throw caution to the wind for now, and he slid his hands through the hair at the nape of Harry's neck. Harry did not pull away for the sake of his friend; he leaned in and smiled.

Hermione looked at them both, and shook her head.

"I did always say you should try to get on," she said, smiling faintly. "This wasn't quite what I meant though. Don't worry about Ron, Harry, it's a lot to process. I'll talk to him."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and apparated away.

"That went well," said Harry.

"I am sorry I was not more discreet," he said.

"No you're not, and screw discreet," said Potter, and pulled him into a kiss. "Do you think you could go again?"

Snape snorted.

"I'm not sure," he answered, honestly. "But I might be persuaded."

Potter smirked.

"Right then," he said. "Follow me."

Severus did not have much choice; he was lead by the hand back into the house. But he would not have wished to be anywhere else. He'd had too much suffering, too much lack of resolution in his life; he _deserved_ this. He was going to be indulged, and it might be alright. Nothing was resolved just yet, of course, and nothing was perfect; they had too much to learn, too much life to live.

But as he watched Harry's lithe form move gracefully up the stairs, he thought this might be as close as he could imagine to a happy ending.


End file.
